What's In a Name?
by Your Worshipfulness
Summary: Everyone wants to know how they met. Here are nine ways Spock didn't meet Nyota-and the one way he did. Spock/Uhura
1. Distress

_Distress_

** I own nothing and this story has no Beta, so bear with me. Also, it's intended to have 9 ways that Spock meets Uhura, so if anyone has any ideas, I've only come up with six really different ways to do it. Please help me out!**

He had been traveling for fourteen hours and though it would be illogical to feel impatience or frustration when this was the fastest means of transport available to him, he could understand how other beings might experience those emotions. He had boarded already, though it would be fifteen minutes before the transport launched, and was patiently waiting as the ship filled to capacity. There was a sudden disturbance near the rear of the transport, Spock heard it from his position near the front, but was determined to politely ignore it. Other curious species clustered closer to the action, craning their necks for a view. Suddenly there came a yell from one of the officers.

"We have a lost Vulcan child here—does anyone here speak Vulcan!?"

The man's tone sounded harassed, which was odd. Surely one child could not be causing too much trouble? Perhaps it was the delay that upset him, though with humans it could very well be completely unrelated to the current situation. Nevertheless, Spock immediately stood and made his way towards the crowd of people at the back—politely excusing himself as he passed through.

The scene on the other side was chaotic. The child—obviously female and no more than six years of age—was bloodied and dirt-encrusted from the bottom of her dusty shoes to the tips of her pointed ears. She had a small knife and was snarling as she menaced the much-larger crewmen. So far, the officers were hesitating to stun her, but phasers had been drawn. Then they noticed him.

"Oh, thank God! Do you know this girl?" asked one distressed female officer.

"No, but I will attempt to communicate with her," Spock informed her, his voice controlled. Humans often responded well to calm tones, something he took advantage of often. The officer visibly relaxed, stepping respectfully aside to give him access.

He moved into the circle and made eye contact with the child. "_What is your name_?" he asked, slipping easily into his native tongue.

The child gave a piercing scream and cringed away from him, shouting almost unintelligibly. Still, Spock was very nearly an expert in Xenolinguistics, and it was definitely Romulan—the high dialect, he suspected from the pronunciation of the word 'schelec.' That made sense, as a Vulcan child would have to be severely mentally handicapped to behave in such a disturbing way.

He kept his distance and tried again, this time in Romulan. "_Child, what is your name?"_

More screaming—mostly profanity and threats—this time she accompanied it with some overt gestures with her knife. Spock raised an eyebrow and took a step forward—perhaps he could disarm her…

A slim brown hand touched his wrist gently. He glanced up into a pair of warm human eyes and blinked. The woman leaned forward and said in a low tone. "She's frightened of men, see how she aims the knife at the male officers and ignores the females? Let me try."

"You speak Romulan?" he asked, surprised and intrigued.

"_All three dialects_," she replied in High Romulan, shooting a smile at his raised eyebrow.

"Impressive," he conceded. "Please proceed."

She gestured for the others to give her some space and then she squatted down on the floor—heedless of her skirt—and began to talk to the child in tones too low for even Spock's Vulcan ears to catch. The little girl seemed hesitant at first, then finally Uhura reached out, very slowly and took the knife from her. The child collapsed into her arms, sobbing and rubbing her bloodied face into the woman's blouse. She continued to rock her gently, telling her that everything would be all right now and other meaningless but comforting phrases. The conflict resolved, the other officers left to their stations to prepare the transport for launch. Spock and the female officers remained behind.

The woman spoke quietly so as not to disturb the child, who had dissolved into hiccups and soft sniffling. "Her name is Impalma, she was taken by a group of men whom she cannot identify, though I find it likely they were Romulan as well. Her dialect suggests she is from an upper caste and her mother is someone important. I can get more information from her when she calms down."

"That may not be necessary," Spock said, his voice equally quiet. "Most Romulan children are implanted with an identification chip in their hand before being taken off-planet, especially children of high rank."

"Can you scan for that, Ensign?" the woman asked, shifting the child in her arms. The girl must have weighed around sixty pounds; perhaps she was getting tired.

"The document reader can probably pick it up, but if it's in Romulan we won't be able to read it."

"I will assist you so that Miss…" he paused, looking questioningly at the woman.

"Uhura," she replied firmly.

"Miss Uhura can stay with the child," he continued solemnly.

After that everything fell into place. The identification chip revealed the name of her mother, Urel Selen, the head of the Uhirianu family and a high-ranking diplomatic officer. A message was promptly set and they had a reply within minutes. A carefully composed Selen asked to see Impalma and then calmly arranged a rendezvous, somehow giving them the impression that she was doing them a favor. An hour later, an Andorian vessel approached, they dropped out of warp, and Selenek beamed aboard.

Impalma ran to her mother the moment she was set down and threw herself into her arms. Though she was forced to maintain her decorum in front of so many aliens on the less-than-private transport, Spock was sure he perceived an unfathomable depth of relief in her eyes. Selenek nodded to both of them and beamed back to her ship.

"Well," Miss Uhura said, sounding a bit nonplussed. "That was exciting." She moved over to a vacant seat and seemed to be settling in for the rest of the ride.

"It was certainly more eventful than I expected this trip to be."

"Where are you headed?" she asked, her tone open and friendly.

Spock sat next to her and strapped himself in. "Earth, to Starfleet Academy. I have been visiting my parents on Vulcan."

"Are you joining Star Fleet then?" she asked.

"I will be teaching actually: Basic Xenolinguistics, Advanced Vulcan, and Advanced Romulan courses, Astrometrics, Interstellar Tactics, and Tri-dimensional Physics."

"Wow. You're pretty impressive yourself," she conceded with a smile.

He allowed his lips to twitch upwards—the same smile he gave his mother. "Are you headed for earth as well?"

"I've been visiting my brother on Deep Space Two. It was a present from my parents when I was accepted into Starfleet. I'll probably see you in class."

"Will you be majoring in Xenolinguistics then?" he asked mildly. She had already demonstrated an incredible ability.

"Double majoring—I want to be a Communications officer."

"A worthy goal, Miss Uhura."

She turned and locked eyes with him before giving him what he could only describe as a coy smile. "Please, call me Nyota."


	2. Disinhibition

Disinhibition

Spock was drunk. He had lost count of how many shots he had consumed. At least twenty, probably more than a human could have ingested without risking alcohol poisoning. Chalk one up to the supremacy of hybridization. He allowed himself a smirk as he reached for the glass again. This was his latest experiment. His mother had encouraged him to give the social and recreational activities of Earth a chance to prove their value, to which end he had drawn up a list of activities he had observed most cadets performing and was systematically attempting all of them at least once.

So far he had tried extreme sports—cliff diving, which was interesting but hardly the terrifying experience most cadets reported. How could it be when he knew his trajectory, was certain of his terrain, and had calculated the exact moment when he would need to twist his body to enter the water without being injured. When he had explained this to a fellow diver, the man had seemed almost upset that he had acquired this information and insisted that he was "missing the point." Next he had attempted joining a club—Dimensional Chess—which he enjoyed and dancing. He had easily mastered the concept but found it tedious to perform, though it had come in handy once or twice. Now he had moved on to one of the most popular cadet pastimes, competitive drinking.

Of course, he was not foolish enough to try this sort of an experience where anyone he knew could see him. To that end, he was in a bar in Antananarivo, half a world away from San Francisco, and was on leave for four days—just in case it took him longer than he anticipated to recover from the effects of the alcohol.

He downed another shot and noticed that things seemed to be moving slower than usual.

"Either the world has slowed down or the alcohol has begun to alter my perceptions—" This train of thought was cut off as the chair across from him was suddenly filled.

"Hello," she said, rather abruptly, it seemed.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Greetings," he replied easily, carefully pouring himself another shot from the bottle he had purchased.

"May I ask you an intrusive personal question?" she asked.

Spock pondered this for a moment. "I find myself unusually receptive to such intrusive questions at the moment. By all means, proceed."

"I didn't know Vulcans drank," she stated more than asked.

Pursing his lips at this accusation, he solemnly shook his head. "Vulcans, like most humanoids, require fluid to survive, though our planet is primarily desert."

She smiled wryly. Humans often did this around him. "I meant that you drank alcohol."

"Vulcans are not affected by alcohol in the same way humans are," he replied, blinking at her curiously, "however, I am only half-Vulcan and it seems as though I am more susceptible." He did not stumble over the word. "You see, it is in the nature of an experiment," he confided, in an absence of any pressing need to conceal the nature of his indulgence. A thought hit him then. "Are you not drinking?"

She shrugged. "I'm already drunk; otherwise, I'd have never had the courage to come over here."

"Well, as we currently share a common condition, perhaps we can bond over the rest of this bottle," he suggested.

She stared at him, wide-eyed. He stared back. "I have never known anyone who has consumed that much Everclear and still managed to be conscious, let alone alliterative."

"You seem particularly articulate," he replied easily.

"Practice," she shot back. Then she poured herself a drink. Almost half an hour later, she stood up as abruptly as she had sat down. "I think my friends have gone."

"That is…unfortunate."

"Yes, especially since they were supposed to take me back to the apartment."

Spock spoke before he thought, that seemed to be the pattern tonight. "You may stay with me, if you would like. My hotel room contains two beds."

"Was that a proposition?" she asked, blinking in surprise.

He considered this. "I am not certain I understand the question."

She stared at him for a long time, then held out her hand. "Let's go." He grabbed the bottle and took her hand.

It was difficult to walk, but by going slowly they managed. The hotel was close and he had an excellent memory, even when slowed down to one quarter its usual speed. He gave the computer his code, again slowly, but it worked on the first try. The door opened and they entered. The door closed and she kissed him.

He did not react at once, but as her lips moved against his it became easier. His body seemed to know what to do, to pull her against him and run his hands through her hair. She began to remove his shirt and he returned the favor, sliding the straps of her top over arms and pulling down until she could yank her arms out and the stretchy top was around her waist. When her breasts pressed against him he felt a strange fire being kindled inside of him. He had never felt such a strong physical reaction before, but the alcohol in his system prevented him from panicking. He floated on a cloud where emotions were pleasantly muted, leaving only sensation. In way, all he was doing was feeling; he could certainly feel her writhe against him in that delightfully unpredictable way of hers.

She was flushed, her eyes dilated with pleasure as his hands moved down her back to grip her waist securely. Her lips found his and she moaned into his mouth as he rotated his hips into hers. Then her lips were moving, down his jaw, to his neck, biting softly, then harder, causing him to let loose a strange growl that hadn't even known he was capable of. It didn't seem to faze her as she moved lower, grazing his chest and then she was on her knees in front of him.

At first he thought she was merely too uncoordinated to stand up with all the alcohol in her system, but she seemed determined to open the fastening of his pants while she was down there. He took the time to breathe—the fire was slowly ebbing as she wrestled with the fastening. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea—they were both intoxicated, he didn't even know her name—

The buttons gave and she yanked his trousers down almost violently. Her face beaming with triumph she gazed up at him with the strangest expression—almost mischievous. Then she grasped him firmly and licked. The fire flared to life, reasoning pushed to the side as delicious white heat enveloped him. He was aware that he was begging for something, but she unless she spoke Vulcan she would have no idea what he was saying. Words poured out of his mouth, how good it felt, how wonderful she was, how much he wanted her. It felt natural to articulate such things. Besides, he would have said anything she wanted.

The fire had reached fever pitch, he was barely holding himself back, when suddenly it became too much. He felt as though he were going to explode with the intensity. She stopped. He took deep, calming breaths as her kisses followed a trail back up to his mouth, then detoured up to his ear. She swirled her tongue inside and his knees weakened.

"I want you, now," she told him, in no uncertain terms, in accent-perfect Vulcan. The sentence was oddly arousing—perhaps because he had never heard Vulcan spoken with such depth of feeling or perhaps because it was so odd that she should speak it. Either way, the fire roared again and he kicked his pants and shoes to the side, stripping underwear with them as well. She seemed to be intimidated by his sudden speed, but when he backed her up against the bed she quickly sat down and scooted back to make room for him.

He crawled to her and saw her mouth fall open in a gasp as he covered her body. His teeth sank into her neck and she cried out in pleasure. He moved to her breasts, enjoying the sounds she made when he kneaded them in his hands, but he couldn't wait long. His body demanded completion. He ripped her underwear off—the lace much too thin for his enhanced strength. Her skirt was merely pushed up, facilitating intercourse. A thought hit him, that this was what his male students referred to as 'easy access.' It was crude, but apparently accurate.

Spock aligned their bodies carefully, fumbling slightly in his need. She sat up and casually pushed him backwards, sliding atop him and taking him in hand again. With careful precision, she set him at her entrance and enveloped him—there was no other word for this melting feeling of oneness.

It was more intense than before, which surprised him. He hadn't thought he could feel any more, but it was so hot and tight and perfect that he felt himself straining towards her—as if his whole body could dissolve into hers. She was controlling their movements as she lifted her body and slid back down in a slow, smooth rhythm, but he was the stronger of the two of them. He could take back the reins of this encounter at any time. But he didn't want to. His hands rested on her hips, urging her on, but not interfering with her pace.

He watched her expression with something akin to wonder, saw her bite her lip as she tossed her head from side to side. He did not want this burning to stop, because in this moment everything made sense. He was male and she, female, they were locked in a dance older than either of their races where the immediate goal was known and not feared. Life should be so simple all the time.

She pinched his ear and he gasped more in surprise than pain. "What--?"

She smirked and deliberately clenched her inner muscles around him. This time his gasp was accompanied by an involuntarily arching spine and his fingers tightening at her waist. "Just making sure you're still paying attention," she told him, eyes dancing wickedly.

"Allow me to assure you of my continued interest in this activity," Spock said, with what he felt was admirable control. His voice trembled but did not break. He flipped them and she it was her turn to gasp in surprise; then he made her gasp again as he thrust forward with renewed vigor. He must have been reaching just the right spot, for she began to clutch at him desperately and now she was the one begging him not to stop.

"Faster," she panted, wrapping her legs around his hips as she rose to meet him. "Harder."

It was becoming impossible to concentrate—even translating single words was taxing as his brain unraveled in the overwhelming feelings. His whole body was aflame. He forced himself to answer her, "I will damage you," he insisted, trying to rein back an instinctive urge to hold her down and ram their bodies together with all the force he could muster.

Dark eyes met his as she raked her fingernails down his back. "I want you to damage me," she said in a sultry tone that went straight through him.

He moaned—how could he do anything else—and lost control. The world went white hot and he temporarily lost control of four of the five senses. He could still feel, as he saw brilliant colors flashing behind his eyelids, his hearing was reduced to the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, his sense of smell evaporated, and taste went non-existent. The most indescribable sensation washed through his frame, incalculable pleasure, a slow spiral towards another plane of reality; it was similar to a near-death experience really, except, of course, for the mind-blowing bliss that accompanied this particular activity.

When he finally returned to full awareness, she was snuggled into his side, murmuring endearments into his skin and stroking him as one would a pet. It was curiously soothing. He did not feel like talking, for the whole event seemed beyond words. He certainly couldn't describe what had just happened. Instead he stroked her in return until she dropped into sleep.

When he awoke, there was a message flashing on his comm screen and the only sign of his partner was a faint impression on the left side of the bed. He knew enough of Earth customs to know that this was not a good sign. His head ached slightly, but it was nothing he couldn't control. Instead of meditating immediately though, he cleared his throat and said, in a somewhat raspy voice, "Computer, play message."

"Hey," came the soft, smooth voice of the woman he had shared himself with. "I'm sorry I had to leave so early, but I'm catching a transport in a few hours and I'm not finished packing yet. I wanted to tell you," she cut off, sounding somehow uncertain, despite the strength in her voice. "I don't know what I wanted to tell you, maybe that I don't do this often. You were wonderful, everything last night was wonderful. I know they say Vulcan's don't feel, but just in case, I don't want you to feel badly about it. So, thank you, for making my last day here so memorable and maybe I'll see you around sometime." The message cut off and the flashing light stopped.

Still nude, he crossed the floor and checked the signature: Nyota Uhura, her comm. number, and her forwarding address: Starfleet Academy, San Francisco. And Spock, despite knowing that this information was only going to make his life more complicated, allowed himself one tiny smile. Then he was packing for his return to the Academy a few days early—back to San Francisco and Nyota.


	3. Descent

**Descent**

"Wait," Gaila shouted, running after Nyota as she attempted to escape their dormitory without a bone-crushing hug from the effervescent Orion woman. Nyota had no choice but to freeze as Gaila slammed into her, practically crushing her ribs as they embraced. "I am going to miss you so, so much!"

Nyota would have laughed if she could breathe. "Gaila, it's a four day break. I'm not even leaving the Academy."

Mercifully, the green-skinned girl pulled away. "What—you're staying here all by yourself?"

"Not all by myself," Nyota insisted defensively. "Some other students are staying."

"Name one."

"Rafe Krouse," she immediately offered.

"Duh—because his family lives in San Francisco, practically right across the street."

"What about Frkyntl?" Nyota added.

Gaila wrinkled her nose. "The blobby-looking thing that has to stay in the tank of goo for five hours out of every day?"

Nyota shrugged, "We can't all be carbon-based life-forms, Gaila."

"Whatever. The point is you can't do homework the whole time we're on break. Promise me you'll have fun."

Nyota smiled. "I promise."

"Promise me that this fun will not involve anything educational," Gaila added, squinting suspiciously.

Cursing inwardly, Nyota tried not to let her dismay show on her face. "Fine, fine, I'll take some long walks."

"I have a better idea," her roommate exclaimed, running and vaulting over her bed to rummage beneath it. She came out with a big smile and two actual honest-to-god paperback books—both with compromising pictures on the front."

"Oh my god, those look ancient," Nyota couldn't help but exclaim.

"I know, right—they're so retro. Grady found them in an antique store and bought them for me. They're actually in pretty good condition. At least try to read them—it's relaxing."

"What if I lose them?" Nyota asked, trying to give them back as quickly as possible.

"Consider it a gift," Gaila replied merrily. "Honestly, it's like giving nutritional supplements to a starving man, but it'll have to do," she added, grinning at her friend. "Now read them!"

"Okay, I'll try, but I really have to go now. I want to get a head start on the lab that's due next week and finally the advanced xenolinguistics laboratory will be empty!" She shoved both books into her already-full bag and fastened on of the clips with some difficulty.

Gaila rolled her eyes. "And on that note, I'm off for a glorious three nights in Greece—enjoy your homework." With that she grabbed her luggage, blew Nyota a kiss, and flounced out the door.

Nyota headed straight for the lab and spent a glorious three hours sifting through subspace attempting to pick up deep-space transitions that may have ricocheted off of comets, satellites, or nebulae and record them for analysis. She probably would have stayed at it longer had the computer consul before not chosen that moment to blink twice. She hastily saved her data before the screen went blue and displayed the following message: _We are taking the opportunity to perform scheduled system updates at this time. Regular computer access will be restored at 0500 hours. Thank you for your patience._

Nyota sighed, but realized there was nothing more to accomplish this evening. She grabbed her bag, wincing at the weight on her shoulders, and headed back to her room for a night of restful sleep uninterrupted by talking, crying, or sex of any kind.

Actually, now that she thought about it, it _was_ kind of depressing.

With a sigh, she hit the call button on the turbolift in the building—no way was she lugging this bag down three flights of stairs! The familiar hiss comforted her in a way that the single occupant of the lift did not. He was the typical Vulcan male—thin, pale, pointy, and silently intimidating. She made eye contact, nodded politely, and was nodded at in turn. She pressed the button for the ground floor and clasped her hands behind her back. The doors shut themselves and she heard the distinctive hum of the machinery. The hum stopped and Uhura automatically moved forward—expecting the doors to open.

A forceful grip caught her arm, pulling her back just enough that she did not run face-first into the still-closed doors. She did not gasp or cry out—Uhura was one of those people whom, when surprised, tended to freeze for a few crucial seconds before reacting. It had served her in good stead when she (very occasionally) became the victim of pranks. Now it protected her dignity by preventing her from screeching in surprise at the sudden contact.

Her voice and face composed, she turned to face the Vulcan. "Thank you," her eyes flickered to his uniform, "Lieutenant."

"You are welcome, Cadet," he replied evenly.

She reached over and flipped open the small hatch that concealed the manual door override. Pulling it up forcefully, she watched as the door opened to reveal a portion of smooth, blank wall. Nyota allowed them to close again. "It would seem the computer updates extend beyond the consuls, if they are interfering with the turbolift."

"That seems to be a logical conclusion," the Vulcan said. She pondered for a moment, giving the man a calculating stare. She had an acquaintance working Security tonight who might be able to help her, but if a Lieutenant made he call, he might get more prompt service. She'd prefer not to let anyone know she'd been trapped in the elevator with anyone though—she could already hear the off-color jokes, now. She noted he was returning her stare it without stricture—and that his eyes seemed unusually intense for a Vulcan. "Is there a problem, Cadet?"

Nyota looked away, realizing he probably thought her rude. "No sir, I was merely considering the logical alternatives of the situation."

It was his turn to blink. "Indeed? And what alternatives are these?"

Nyota wished she hadn't said anything**. **How could she explain her reasoning in a way a Vulcan would understand? "Well, Sir, if I were to contact maintenance or security I'd probably have a forty percent chance of getting priority treatment because I am, essentially, a damsel in distress and I happen to know that Cadet Duke and his equally chivalrous sidekick are working security tonight. However, your higher rank might inspire fear, which could more effectively motivate the cadets on duty."

"A fascinating postulation, though your statistics are attempting to predict the behavior of several highly emotional beings who represent extremely unstable variables," he responded.

"All we can do is be logical in an illogical universe, Lieutenant." She grinned at him conspiratorially and was quietly astonished to see appreciation flicker in his eyes.

There was a moment of silence before the Lieutenant tilted his head to the side and regarded her with something that would have been mischief in any other being. "May I suggest an exercise, Cadet?" the Vulcan asked, tentatively.

"Of course, Lieutenant."

"If you are agreeable, I will call maintenance and request that our situation be made a priority. You may call security and make contact with Cadet Duke. Perhaps we may be able to resolve the question of which duty has greater influence over the human psyche."

"It will not be the most precise experiment, sir," Nyota told him. "I'm not certain everyone on shift tonight is human, and therefore it may not be an accurate reflection."

"I accept that outside of the laboratory, not every variable can be controlled. I would consider this more of a Sociological exercise than a scientific one," he added. "Sometimes, I have been told, one must simply take a chance and 'let the chips fall where they may.'" This last expression was said with a peculiar lilt, suggesting he was not wholly familiar with the usage of the phrase.

"Very well, Lieutenant. I accept your challenge."

He gave the tiniest of sighs. "Why is it that humans must always turn the most straightforward interactions into a competition?"

She smiled, feeling surprising comfortable when he didn't visually respond to it. "Because that's what makes it fun. I was even going to suggest a wager, but perhaps some Earth customs are better left a mystery to outsiders."

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow, then moved to the opposite side of the turbolift and pulled out his communicator as she reached for hers. His call went through first and though he tried to keep quiet so as not to interfere with her own conversation, she did overhear him identify himself—Lieutenant Spock, apparently a professor in the Science department.

Then her call picked up and she heard Duke's disinterested voice say, "Security."

"Duke, it's me."

"Uhura!" he said, sounding excited. "What can I do you for, Babe?"

Rolling her eyes at the endearment, she tried to inject a note of uneasiness into her voice that was believable but not out of character. "I don't know, Duke. I was in the xenolinguistics lab and when the consuls went out. This building is seriously creepy when it's empty. I don't know, I guess I wasn't thinking, I just wanted to get out of here fast, so I took the turbolift but…" She let her voice trail off.

"Oh damn, they're out aren't they?" Duke said, sounding suitably concerned.

"Yes, and now I'm stuck here until 0500—it's just freaking me out a little. I'm not claustrophobic or anything, but for some reason I have a bad feeling about this. Is there anyway you can help me?"

"Uhura, I'm going to do everything I can to get you out of there. Just sit tight, I'll call you back as soon as I've made some progress."

"Thank you so much, Duke."

"Hey, no problem, Babe. Bye."

Another silent grimace at this mode of address was dutifully performed as she flipped the hand-held device closed. Lieutenant Spock was staring at her. Oddly, she felt herself blush under his scrutiny. "A masterful performance," he noted, and was she imagining the hint of irony there?

'You should see me fake an orgasm,' she thought briefly, smirking slightly at the thought of saying something so bold to a superior officer. She replied much more sedately, "One must use all the weapons in one's arsenal, Sir."

"It does not distress your conscience to imply a concern you do not feel?" he asked archly.

"With respect, Sir, what makes you so sure I'm not concerned? I am trapped in a turbolift, in an empty building, with a male stranger who is quiet literally from a different planet. You are taller, stronger, and likely more skilled than I am in combat training. Furthermore, the fact that you are older than I and outrank me implies a clear imbalance of authority."

His brow wrinkled. "Do you feel threatened by me, Cadet?"

Asked right out like that, she found it a difficult question to answer. "I suppose, Sir, I don't think you are seriously contemplating attacking me at the moment. However, I can't suppress an instinctual, residual fear at being trapped with an unknown man—though you seem like a nice guy," she hastily added.

This earned another eyebrow raise. "How can I help to eliminate your distress, Cadet?"

She looked at him, trying to judge how serious he was. "Perhaps you could call me Nyota, Sir. It would make me feel better."

"Very well, then you may address me as Spock, if that will make my rank less obvious to you," he conceded.

"And maybe we could sit down—that way you can't loom so much," she added.

"Does not the word 'loom' imply a level of malevolence, Nyota?" Spock asked as he seated himself on the floor. That was almost a joke.

"Don't worry, Spock. I'm sure you weren't looming intentionally," she said cheekily. It was much easier to tease him when she didn't have to call him Lieutenant and it put her at ease each time he failed to react negatively.

"Have you any more proposals?"

"Well, perhaps if we did something to keep busy—," she suggested thoughtfully.

"As you can see, I have nothing productive with me."

"I probably have something…" she muttered, pulling her bag open. She set Gaila's books aside, pulled out her make-up bag, her exercise uniform—thankfully clean—and a stack of padds six inches tall. She sorted through them, putting the homework away until she found the list of articles, ranging from new ways to boost signal between far-flung colonies to the discovery of a language spoken entirely with bubbles—though from what Uhura could see, it was more of a fluff piece, focusing on how odd the concept was rather than how to speak the language or why it was culturally significant. "Here are some—" She cut herself off staring in horror.

Spock had picked up Gaila's novels was examining them with some interest. On the cover, a muscle-bound man was busily ravishing a blonde temptress in a dungeon setting—an expression of vapid adoration on his face. The title _Entrapped by Love_ said it all. In the other, a pretty, red haired woman in a business suit was being pressed against the wall of an elevator as a dark-haired man fumbled beneath her skirt—apparently to her delight. The cover was emblazoned with the words _Elevated Encounter_. He raised his head to meet her eyes, having finished perusing the back cover. "Fascinating."

Uhura blushed and hoped that the Vulcan's superior eyesight would not be able to discern the very slight difference in her skin tone. Numb with humiliation, she sank her head into her hands. "I can't believe this is happening

"Indeed?" he asked, sounding honest-to-God curious. "It seems you were prepared for the eventuality, for you have ample research material."

Was it possible to die of indignity? "I cannot believe the chain of events that led to this moment," she muttered incredulously.

"Enlighten me, Nyota," he requested, somehow managing to sound smug without a single inflection. For an emotionless species, he was enjoying her squirming way too much. Vulcans were sadists, Nyota was convinced.

"My roommate, an Orion, gave me those book four hours ago. I happened to put them in my bag instead of throwing them into the nearest trash can. Then, coincidentally, I choose to work at the same time a computer update is scheduled, which just happens to coincide with your schedule. We both wind up in the same turbolift, which happens to break down, and you happen to come across my—that specific book. What are the chances?"

**"**It is quite unlikely—I calculate the odds of such an event happening again to be less than one percent." She was silent, still recovering from the embarrassment. "Is this not representational of human encounters, then?

Nyota's eyes widened. "Absolutely not—I mean, it's just a romance novel; if it wasn't unbelievable it wouldn't be a fantasy! Besides, those were published almost two hundred years ago, no one would do that in an elevator with a stranger these days."

"Are you certain? It seems unlikely such a novel would stay in circulation if the fantasy was no longer relevant." He was staring at her intently.

She looked up into his face and for the first time noticed that his bland expression looked almost too blank to be real. "You're teasing me, aren't you?" she asked, resigned to the idea that he had completely taken her in. His eyes glinted at her in what was definitely good humor. She narrowed her eyes, "You—"

She was cut off as her communicator sounded. She flicked it open, "Uhura here."

"Hey Babe, it's all taken care of. I moved your building up on the list and the main computer should be back online in five minutes, tops.

"Thanks, Duke; you're the best!"

"No problem—does this mean you'll finally go out with me?" he asked, a bit too eagerly.

Rolling her eyes once more, Uhura tried to keep her tone light. "You know I would never do that to Gaila. Honestly Duke, what kind of a friend would I be if I dated her ex?"

"Oh, I hadn't thought about it like that…"

"Ah, I think the turbolift is coming back on, so I'd better go. Thanks again!"

"Right, well, you're welcome."

"Bye!"

"Nyota, I do not believe I have noticed any indication of the turbolift regaining power," Spock noted calmly.

"Really?" she asked, unconcerned. "Perhaps I was mistaken."

"I am occasionally concerned by the ease with which humans practice deception," he commented disapprovingly.

Nyota bristled at the implied criticism. "Don't Vulcans ever…dissemble?"

"Only when doing so avoids greater harm oranother moral imperative outweighs the desire to be honest."

"Humans frequently lie to smooth relations between others who are not closely involved with us. We pretend to be polite to superiors, pretend to be patient in replimat lines, and pretend to appreciate gifts that we find completely useless or distasteful. Total honesty would probably cause a breakdown of pretty much all of Earth's systems," Nyota informed him.

"That is completely illogical," he told her unequivocally.

"It's only illogical if you take emotion out of the equation. Don't get me wrong, I admire the Vulcan's elegant solution, but for humans it isn't that easy."

It was his communicator that went off this time, and he flipped it open with practiced ease. "Spock here."

"Lieutenant Spock, Security reports another cadet is trapped in the building as well; we've provided them with access to the mainframe and they are moving the computers in your building to the top of the priority list."

"Thank you for your prompt action."

"You're welcome, Sir. Anderson out."

Spock shut the communicator and turned to her. "It appears that chivalry is approximately 34.6% more effective as a motivator than rank," he informed her.

"Technically they both rescued us together—I just got the call first."

"Perhaps—" he was cut off when the turbolift suddenly powered up and began to sink sightly. The doors opened with a hiss and Uhura scrambled to her feet to hit the hold door button. She glanced back to see Spock rising much more gracefully. He handed her the bag she had left on the floor.

"Thank you," she said softly. He nodded politely and she couldn't help but smile. "It was nice meeting you, Lieutenant," she added. "I hope I see you around sometime."

"That is a vague and confusing statement, Cadet, but I return the sentiment."

She shook her head in exasperation as she headed down the corridor, back to her room, finally. This day felt like it had lasted forever. She was halfway down the hallway when she realized she had left Gaila's—no, let's be honest—her book with the Lieutenant. She stopped and glanced back towards the turbolift. Spock was just outside the doors, already scanning the first page.

She resumed course, leaving him to indulge his curiosity. There was no sense in embarrassing him—if such a thing were possible--by letting him know she'd caught him looking. Besides, she had actually had an interesting time with Spock; going to pick up her book would give her a good excuse to see him again. She grinned at the direction her mind was wandering. Perhaps the book would spark his imagination in a positive way—after all, wild sex with an emotionally unavailable man was a common human fantasy, too.


	4. Decisions

**Decisions**

**Again, props to Beta AtanaM! I own nothing—except the mistakes… The next chapter will have more smut, for those who wanted to know. I'm not naming any names...you know who you are.**

"Spock!"

Spock turned at the sound of his voice, waiting patiently for the copper-skinned woman to reach his side. "Cadet Uhura," he said, nodding his head in greeting.

"Hey," she said a bit breathlessly. "Sorry I've been running around like crazy this week, but I finished my thesis and who knows, I could be a foreign ambassador by July! Oh, and I heard you aren't going home for spring break, so I was wondering if you'd like to come with Gary and I for a week?"

"I had understood that your plans include obtaining parental approval for your… _boyfriend_." Spock resisted the urge to turn the corners of his lips ever so slightly down as the word passed his lips; it seemed undignified, but lover would have been an inappropriate assumption on his part while fiancé was not yet applicable. "I believe my presence would be intrusive."

Uhura shook her head, black hair flying. "Not at all; you'd be doing us a huge favor if you would agree. Gary is really nervous about meeting my family and if he had a friend along he'd be much more comfortable—he wouldn't be the only stranger, for one."

"I do not seem to have a gift for relieving tension—rather the opposite," Spock objected. He was not being self-effacing, as he was certain she would assume. He knew that he had a tendency to irritate humans that were not familiar with Vulcan culture.

Uhura pouted, looking up into his eyes—a ridiculous expression that was nonetheless amusing, though Spock would not allow himself to display such an emotion. "Please? It would be a great way for you to get better acquainted with Earth culture."

He sighed. On the one hand, he had research that he was hoping to work on, but Gary was his only close friend; he did not want to alienate him by refusing this simple request. Perhaps he could accomplish both, no doubt once his friend acclimated to the new surroundings he would be more comfortable leaving Spock alone in the hotel to research in peace. "I will accompany him, if that is your wish. What is the date and time that I will be expected?"

"Oh, thanks, Spock," Uhura said, a brilliant smile lighting up her beautiful face. For a moment he was able to see what Gary saw in the woman, though she was much too excitable—too human—for his tastes. "Gary is leaving tomorrow at 1800, so you can catch the same transport and we'll see you at around 1845."

"That is amenable."

She smiled again and rushed off.

"How do I look?"

Spock glanced at his friend out of the corner of his eye. "As I have stated four times in the very recent past, your appearance is acceptable." Spock saw Gary open his mouth to ask another question and forestalled him quickly, "And your hair is immaculate."

Gary shrugged and Spock noticed his breathing was slightly faster than normal while beads of perspiration were forming on his forehead. He hypothesized that if he checked, Gary's heart rate would be elevated as well. From these physical reactions he deduced that his friend was nervous. He assumed this was natural in humans when meeting the protectors of a potential mate.

"Would you like me to ring for admittance?" Spock asked politely as Gary stared at the door of the Uhura home for a good twenty seconds.

Gary shook his head, but made no move to press the button on the side of the door. Instead he glanced over at Spock. "This is really important to me, but I just know I'm going to screw it up."

"I know that you care for Uhura—"

"I love her," Gary interrupted.

"And she is a loyal companion with a formidable will and impressive reasoning skills," Spock told him truthfully. "Thus if you were to make a negative impression, she would balance your behavior here with the behavior she has witnessed over the past four years and she will not allow parental disapproval to sway her decision to join with you."

Gary glanced at him, and he saw the man's eyes were wide with surprise. "Wow, Spock. That was almost…reassuring."

The corners of Spock's mouth quirked up. "Am I not your friend?"

The human reached out and pressed the button near the side of the door. They waited for 6 seconds and then, "Thanks," Gary said, just before the door opened.

"You are welcome," Spock replied evenly. Then they both greeted the Uhura family.

"Good evening, you must be Gary and Spock, we have heard much about you," a tall, very dark woman proclaimed in low, measured tones.

"Mrs Uhura," Gary said, smiling and reaching out his hand to clasp her warmly. From this reaction, Spock reasoned that it was Uhura's father he was truly apprehensive of.

Spock merely gave her a polite bow. "Greetings Ambassador Uhura."

The Ambassador nodded graciously and raised her hand in the traditional Vulcan salute. His hands automatically returned her hail and then they were following her into the living area to meet the rest of the family.

"Amali," Gary said, grinning up at her as she descended the stairs. Her face broke out into a huge smile as she threw herself into his arms. Spock found this greeting overenthusiastic—the couple had seen each other only a day before. Still, Ambassador and Mr. Uhura appeared to be unsurprised by their actions, so Spock could only assume this was an acceptable mode of behavior between soon-to-be affianced couples.

"Hello, Spock," Amali said, interrupting his thoughts. She gave him a smaller grin and a wave of acknowledgement. "I see you guys have met the folks."

"We have not yet been introduced to your father," Spock inserted quietly.

"Oh, sorry! Dad, this is Gary and Spock; guys this is my dad. He's an engineer at St. Germaine's Institute of Architecture and Design."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Uhura," Spock said promptly.

Gary visibly straightened and shook his future father-in-law's hand. "Thank you for having us."

"Well, we figured it's about time we got to meet the boy who's so keen to become part of our family." Mr. Uhura did not smile as he spoke and Gary's eyes widened into mild panic. Spock cocked his head in confusion. It seemed like a perfectly innocuous statement, yet Gary was reacting as if to a threat. Odd.

"So, Mama, are we ready to eat?" Amali asked, obviously seeking to break the tense silence as Mr. Uhura continued to stare at Gary.

"I believe so, if you will invite your sister to join us; I believe she is reading under her tree," the Ambassador said gently. She deftly stepped between her husband and the cadet, ushering them both with a firm, but dignified movement into the dining room. Spock followed, allowing just a trace of his confusion at the events show. Humans were perplexing creatures

Approaching the dining table, Spock felt more at ease. At least here he understood human customs. The oldest male of the family would be seated at the head, with his wife at the foot of the table. Gary prudently took a seat to Ambassador Uhura's left while Spock tactfully chose to seat himself to Mr. Uhura's left. By the time the two girls walked in, it was obvious that Amali would be sliding in next to Gary to create a buffer between him and her father. This left Spock with an uncommunicative, and possibly overprotective father on his right and Amali's sister to his left.

"This is my youngest daughter, Nyota," the Ambassador said, gesturing gracefully as the girl took her seat. Slim and of a lighter coloring than her sister, Nyota seemed to have captured her mother's air of regal mystery. As she took her place, she placed a pad next to her plate. Amali casually swiped it and placed it on the counter as she walked to her seat.

"No books at the table, Ny," Amali told her, returning her sister's mild glare with a cheeky smile. As an only child, Spock had long been curious about the way siblings in human households interfaced. He watched the sister's interaction with interest. "What are you reading, anyway?"

"Morchak's _A Human's Guide to Vulcan_," Nyota said. Spock noticed her eyes flick towards him as the corner of her mouth lifted. "It seemed appropriate."

"Nyota has been studying languages and cultures since she was old enough to speak Standard," the Ambassador said proudly.

Mr. Uhura smiled across the table at his wife. "Yes, with luck we will eventually have three ambassadors in the family."

Spock's eyes caught movement as Nyota shifted slightly in her seat next to him. The smile he half expected to see at her father's words was absent. It was disturbing to be unable to predict the emotional reactions of the humans around him—he had thought he was becoming more accurate rather than less.

"Mama, I haven't been accepted into the Diplomatic Corp yet," Nyota protested softly.

"Nonsense," the Ambassador told her warmly.

"Seriously, Ny. In terms of languages, you're way ahead of the second year students. There's no way they'll reject you," Amali insisted.

Nyota shrugged, her body language still stiff. Spock was unsurprised when she turned to him and began asking for clarification regarding certain obscure rites of Vulcan protocol. Meanwhile Mr. Uhura and the Ambassador began to interrogate Gary regarding his future plans, his position in Starfleet, and his prospects as a researcher on Earth.

The dinner hour passed with little discomfort and Spock was pleased to see that the Uhura family remembered that Vulcans were strict vegetarians. The Ambassador then invited them into the living area to drink tiny cups of strong Arabian coffee while she fetched dessert. She returned with a folded piece of paper and a blank, almost frozen look on her face.

"Nyota, you will join me in the kitchen," the Ambassador said in Swahili.

Nyota stiffened visibly, then placed her cup on the table before her and left the room—followed closely by her father. Spock realized he was about to become privy to information the Uhura family would surely not wish him to possess, partially thanks to his universal translator and partially due to his enhanced hearing. He glanced quickly at a concerned Amali. "Perhaps a walk would be refreshing before dessert is served?"

Gary smiled gratefully at him and stood quickly. "Great idea, Spock."

"Okay, but just for a little while," Amali said softly, glancing towards the kitchen where words were already filtering towards the trio.

_How could you? Starfleet? Your brother… _

_I'm not my brother—and I'm also not Amali._

They left quickly, and to Spock's complete lack of surprise, Gary and Amali lagged behind in the warm African night. He saw them head slowly towards the gazebo at the front of the Uhura property. Desirous of giving them privacy, he followed a wide circuit around the house, out into the sparse, wooded area nearby, and back towards the fenced backyard. He wended his way along the manufactured path until he reached the large tree that dominated the enclosed area.

Stooping under the drooping foliage, he peered past the leaves and up into a pair of deep brown eyes. "Greetings, Miss Uhura."

"Greetings Spock," she said, her manner somewhat lacking in animation. Though she was seated comfortably in the branches, she appeared somehow forlorn, though Spock chided himself for the poetical, inexact expression.

They let the silence rest for a long time, merely sharing the darkness, though his eyes strayed away from the branches more and more as time passed. With the heat pressing in on him and the branches hiding them from view, they were as alone as it was possible to be on a planet so crowded with human sentiment. Perhaps that was why she came here, for surely this was 'her' tree, the one her mother spoke of.

He glanced away from her, leaned against the tree, and pondered. It was not an uncomfortable situation—rather as the silence stretched he experienced a sense of peace, calm, and relaxation. Spock felt an odd camaraderie with this human girl with whom he had exchanged barely a twenty minutes conversation. She made him think of home and choices and his own parents. He found he wanted to speak of them, just to see if she would understand.

"You wish to join Starfleet?" he asked suddenly, startling her apparently, for she twitched when he spoke and her eyes snapped back to his.

"Yes," she confirmed, then looked away from him. "I want to see the stars from a different angle—I'm tired of always looking up."

"It is the nature of your species to strive," Spock couldn't help but comment. "And it is the nature of parents to attempt to protect you."

"They can't protect me from life. And it's not as if bad things don't happen to people on Earth everyday!" Her mouth twisted scornfully. "I wish they would be more…" she paused, gazing down at him helplessly, "…logical."

"Would it surprise you to know that my parents were opposed to my joining Starfleet as well?" Spock inquired.

"But why? Surely they understood what a wonderful opportunity it would be?" Nyota asked from above.

A slight tensing of his shoulders was all that betrayed his discomfort at the question. He consciously straightened them. "What is human is not precisely…understood to be as valuable as what is Vulcan--especially where education is concerned," he explained, trying not to be as inoffensive as possible. "In time, my mother saw the wisdom of my choice. My father still questions my logic—when I visit my parents we do not speak because that is all he wishes to discuss."

"It does not seem logical to dwell on what has passed," Nyota stated.

"Perhaps not," Spock conceded. They were silent again.

"What do you think I should do?"

"My opinion is irrelevant," he told her.

"I respect your culture and I'm told you're highly intelligent. An intelligent opinion is always relevant." She grinned down at him, and her sly, almost mischievous expression moved him in a way that her sister's magnificent smiles did not.

He assembled his thoughts. "You have two equally noble pursuits before you. If your skill with languages is as impressive as the Ambassador implies, then you would flourish in the Diplomatic Corps. Furthermore, you have already met various dignitaries by dint of your association with your mother and her formidable reputation would smooth the bureaucracy involved with the process. You would still travel to foreign planets and the death rate of Federation Ambassadors is only 1.36%. In contrast, Starfleet would require a mastery of areas of study in which it is unlikely you will always excel. Your diplomatic relations would have little influence at the Academy, the competition would be high, and once you have graduated you will be shipped out, likely into unknown space, and must accept a death rate of 11.85%."

Nyota stared at him from her lofty perch, and slowly one of her eyebrows raised. "That was a decent summary, but none of it answered my question."

Spock blinked at her, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly upwards. "Were I to choose between a life of relative ease with work that presented little challenge and a career of difficulty wracked with perplexing and even potentially dangerous dilemmas, I would certainly choose the latter. Any other choice would be…"

"Boring?"

"Dissatisfying," he corrected.

"Hmmm." He was not sure if this was a positive or negative statement, so he did not respond. He merely watched as she shifted and began to descend from the tree. She slipped of course, for the shoes she had worn for the dinner part were not made for climbing. Almost reflexively he reached up and caught her around the waist, easing her down until her feet had purchase on the ground. They were much closer than was considered proper in either of their cultures, but he was thinking more of the shape of her lips and the sweep of her hair than culture. He didn't understand it precisely, which was strange enough in and of itself, but she affected him somehow--but to what what purpose he did not know. "Thanks for backing me up," she told him, slipping out of his arms like a shadow.

"I merely gave an opinion," he protested.

"An informed opinion," she said, smiling again as she tilted her head back to look him in the eye. "Thank you." He saw the stars reflecting in her gaze and was unwillingly fascinated. She turned then and began to saunter back to the house. Before he could stop himself, Spock had slid his eyes down her long legs and back up to her swaying hips. Rarely had humanity ever seemed to him so beautiful.


	5. Deevolution

**Eight- De-Evolution**

**Credit goes to whomever owns Star Trek now and my Beta, AtanaM, for her excellent work--she's the one that allowed for this fast update, getting my story back to me in 1 day! Also, for anyone who doesn't know what Ashayam means, look it up, geez, you're on the internet. Now about that smut...**

He tried to concentrate on the irony of the situation, which was as good a focus as any when he was trying to ignore the raging fire that was sweeping through his body. His hands shook, he was covered in a constant sheen of perspiration, and his mind wandered restlessly, unable to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. Ironic, then, because he had always considered his human side to be the weakest part of him—he was conditioned to believe so from his infancy. Only now was he fully realizing humanity's power: freedom.

Vulcans painted Terrans as slaves to their base urges, swimming in a constant, uneasy sea of emotion that threatened to overwhelm them when they least expected it. But who were the real slaves here? Vulcans were chained by their seven-year leash as securely as humans were to their feelings. Spock contemplated this notion for a full seven minutes before the tide of sensation overwhelmed him and he instead fell to calculating imaginary planettrajectories in his head. Anything, anything to distract him from the burning from which there was no relief.

* * *

"What do you mean, they won't do it—why not?" Lieutenant Uhura demanded.

The Vulcan scientist raised an eyebrow, managing to effectively convey annoyance and condescension. "It would be illogical to ask an unmarried female to bond with a hybrid—using birth control would disrupt their fertility cycles and the risk of impregnation is unacceptable."

"I thought that was the idea—getting pregnant," Uhura said, her voice dangerously calm.

"Then you have been misinformed. The purpose is to replenish our race as quickly and efficiently as possible. To dilute the pure Vulcan strain with half-human genes would be…unthinkable. A waste of valuable time and resources."

"So he's not good enough for you?" Uhura asked, and now the technician finally seemed to catch on to her inflection.

Yron pursed his lips and neatly sidestepped the question. "We requested a volunteer; none have come forward. Do you suggest we force someone to submit to him?"

Uhura dialed her rage back a notch. It wasn't this guy's fault that none of the 'genetically superior' Vulcans were willing to sully their gene pool. Still, the idea that these people would let Commander Spock die rather than throw off their fertility cycles for a few months was monstrous to her. "If this is an example of the culture you are fighting to save, I wonder if it's worth it."

Yron's eyes were dark with pain he would not express when he answered. "We are trying to preserve our entire race. You cannot be expected to understand our loss…or our motivations."

"If Earth had gone the way of Vulcan, I still wouldn't understand this. It's wrong. If you won't save him, I will do it myself." Uhura turned on her heel and marched off down the hall towards the private rooms for long-term patients.

"What will you do," came Yron's voice, somehow emotionless even when he raised his voice, "kidnap a Vulcan female?"

Uhura didn't bother turning, but couldn't help a muttered response. "They never said it had to be a Vulcan."

Ten minutes later she was in the women's quarters, storming through the halls until she found the Vulcan she was looking for. T'Vek blinked as Uhura stopped directly in front of her, abruptly, and spoke, "I need your help—it's urgent."

T'Vek motioned for her to follow and led them into a small empty chamber. "What troubles you, Lieutenant?"

"The half-Vulcan that Captain Kirk brought here yesterday, Commander Spock, is entering Plak Tow. His only hope is to bond soon—in a few hours, he will be beyond help."

"His mixed heritage is…unfortunate," T'Vek conceded.

Uhura scowled, aware that the depths of her emotions were uncomfortable for T'Vek to witness, but unable to control it. "He cannot help being born, and he doesn't deserve to die for it!"

"What would you have me do?" T'Vek asked. "I am sympathetic, but I am incapable of giving him what he needs." She gestured down at her expanded stomach; she was at least eight months pregnant—well into her fourth trimester.

Uhura took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for my outburst—I'm frustrated by the situation, not by you. I simply can't understand their point of view. The man is a genius; I've read all his articles on xenolinguistics and communications technology, as well as his essays on Vulcan philosophy and Pedagogy . Did you know he publishes in at least seven other fields and on top of that he does field work for other primary researchers? He speaks 32 languages, four of which he discovered, and he's still gotat least another 170 years of work ahead of what he could accomplish! How could his genetic material not be valued just because half of it is human? It's not just insulting to him, it's offensive to humanity! After everything Vulcan has lost, how could they throw him away like that?"

Throughout her rant T'Vek had sat calmly, staring at her with those dark, placid eyes. Now she spoke. "It sounds as though you are uncommonly attached to the Commander."

"I've never met him before in my life," she responded.

T'Vek raised an eyebrow. "And yet you have nearly memorized his service record."

Nyota shrugged defensively. "Only as it pertains to my field."

"Indeed?" She let it lie. "Then I can guess what your purpose in coming here was. You will attempt to bond with him."

Nyota pursed her lips, unsure if the statement was intended to be censorious. "Yes," she hesitated, "but I need to know the rituals surrounding Pon Farr. I realize that this is something very private for Vulcans, but if it could save Commander Spock's life, I think it's important that I know before I try this."

T'Vek did not waste her time asking if she was sure or speculating on the emotional upheaval she must be experiencing, she merely nodded, cool, serene, emotionless. "Though I have never heard of a human calming the blood fever, Ambassador Sarek was with his human wife for many decades and must have gone through at least six cycles—therefore it must be possible. There is a telepathic aspect to the bonding, which you will not be able to control without training."

"How long would that take?" Uhura asked quickly.

"Approximately fourteen years," T'Vek replied evenly.

"Right, so that's out."

T'Vek gave the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug. "If you are willing, I will meld with you and implant my own memories of the bonding ceremony itself so that you will know what to expect. I should caution you, Commander Spock is only half human and may be in an extremely uncontrolled state. I do not know if he will be able to be gentle with you when he enters your mind."

"Could it damage me?" Uhura asked, trying to keep her own voice free from the anxiety that idea caused.

"Not permanently, but it could be…unpleasant."

"Then I'll deal with it."

"I do not say this to deter you, but Vulcans are much stronger than humans. There is a strong possibility that you will be hurt by this encounter, considering the physical nature of the joining. You must also understand that he will not be capable of stopping once it has begun—and neither will you, unless you can somehow disable him."

"I do understand. Thank you. If you are ready to begin, I am too. I do not wish to make him wait."

T'Vek did not smile, but her eyes shone with approval. Her slender hand reached up and found Nyota's temple, her hand parted in the traditional Vulcan salute. "My mind to your mind," she intoned gently, "my thoughts to your thoughts."

It took mere seconds for Nyota to receive the memories, but she was still processing as T'Vek prepared the ritual bath and then pressed a folded white robe into her hands. "I advise you not to wear anything under it that you would mind being destroyed," the Vulcan woman told her baldly. Then she gave a formal bow and exited the room.

Her thoughts spinning, Nyota bathed quickly, dried her hair, and pulled the robe on over a pair of white regulation underwear. She didn't bother with cosmetics or styling, simply pulling the hood up and heading towards Spock's room. There was no time to think, and for that she was glad—she wasn't afraid she would change her mind, but rather that she would begin to really feel the healthy fear that was coiling in the back of her mind.

Cell, of course, would be a more appropriate word for where Spock was staying. Two Vulcan guards stood outside in case his passions got the better of him. A young, handsome officer was arguing with them, apparently wanting to see the Commander. She could have told him it was futile.

"Look, he's my first officer. Surely that gives me the right to know what will happen to him."

The Vulcan opened his mouth to reply, but Uhura saved him the trouble. "They do not know what will happen to him."

The three turned to watch her approach, intimidating, but after living on the Vulcan colony for nearly a year, it was nothing she couldn't handle. "Lieutenant Uhura, I can guess your intention, but you are not Vulcan. You cannot help him."

Uhura smiled, trying not to look smug. "Your prejudices are showing, Vroll. Commander Spock is proof that it can be done, and besides, according to your geneticists, he isn't Vulcan either." It was refreshing to be speaking Federation Standard again—quite a treat for her living amongst mostly Vulcans who preferred their native tongue.

"You mean you're going to—" Captain Kirk cut off, looking horrified and yet somehow ashamed of himself—perhaps he was feeling guilty simply because he was so disgusted by her plan.

"Let me assure you, I do this of my own free will being of sound mind and body," Uhura replied, beginning to get a bit testy. "Now, if you gentlemen would step aside, I have some business to attend to."

Kirk caught her arm as she turned towards the door. "You do realize he could kill you, don't you? This isn't a game—he's half insane already and seeing you could push him over the edge."

Uhura shrugged him off. "I know the risks—but I can't let him die. If you could save him, wouldn't you?"

She saw the debate behind his eyes before he finally capitulated. He sighed, "Of course I would, but he's _my_ friend. You don't know him from Adam."

"But you think he's worth it," she stated, more than asked.

Kirk scowled. "Of course, he's the best officer I've ever served with, a genius with computers, languages, tactics, stellar cartography, you name it. More importantly though, he's my friend and a good man."

There was a long pause and then Uhura nodded. "Thank you. That helps." Then she stepped inside and the doors closed behind her.

At first she did not see him. The room was half in shadows, even with the natural light pouring in from the high windows. It was oddly cave-like, which didn't take her mind anywhere good. When she finally spotted him, she saw that he was meditating, sweat glistening at his temples, and he was shaking slightly. His chest was bare—as were his feet—and she couldn't help but note that the images of him she had seen in the past barely did him justice. He was, for lack of a better word, _hot_, but it was more than that even. He was strangely arresting, for though she had seen many hundreds of Vulcans in her lifetime, none had ever impressed her like this silently suffering man.

She must have made a sound, for Spock's head snapped up and dark, human eyes focused on her intently. For a moment, rage suffused his features, and then it was the usual blank mask. Still, she retreated a step. When he spoke, his tone was icy. "I have told the healers I do not require a bondmate. Please respect my wishes."

"You have entered plak tow. If you do not bond, you will die," she relied.

"That is my affair." His tone was less dismissive than it was disinterested.

"Do not think that there are so many Vulcans now that we can afford to lose even one," she replied scornfully.

Her emotion must have given her away, for he strode quickly towards her—for a moment she thought he would strike her—and yanked her hood down. His eyes flickered to her eyebrows and ears, distinctly human, and she knew he understood. "I had wondered why they had not come before this." Without the influenced of the Pon Farr, he might have stopped there. But he didn't—one shameful sentence followed. "I am not Vulcan enough to be worth saving."

It pained her to hear his pain uttered, because she knew he wasn't in control and that spilling his innermost thoughts to a stranger would have mortified him if he hadn't been beyond all barriers at this point. Still, once he had been proud and held logic dear to his heart—now he was beneath his people's notice. Uhura became even more determined to help him.

"Your logic is flawed. Your life is no more or less important than anyone's. If you let yourself die, the Vulcan people will live to regret their inaction. Their logic is flawed, too. It is irrational; one fertility cycle, for one month, would be the only cost, and yet they would sacrifice you, all to save a little time!" she couldn't help but let emotion color her voice. She hoped he wouldn't judge her too harshly, considering the circumstances.

"You do not understand."

"I do not want to understand this insanity. If you won't help me save you, I will save you against your will."

For a moment, he actually looked amused as he arched one eyebrow at her. Then his expression grew more foreboding. "It is my choice."

"You are incapable of making rational choices at the moment. Later, if you still feel this way, death remains an option," Uhura told him fiercely—logically.

He glared at her. "I will not comply."

"I am patient. The healers tell me that eventually you will not be able to control yourself. It will be less unpleasant for us both if you simply submit."

Spock turned away from her, seated himself in front of his meditation alter, and ignored her. She took a seat in one of the chairs nearby and resolved to wait him out. Not for the first time since she arrived at Rok-Tor, she wished she was a Vulcan. Surely a Vulcan woman would know what to do with a hybrid who refused to bend to his own heritage. There must be a million ways to seduce a Vulcan that they would never tell an outsider. She sighed unhappily.

Then she smiled. He looked so much like a Vulcan—he acted so much like a Vulcan—that she had almost forgotten the most important fact of all. Spock was half-human, and she was well-versed in human techniques. Perhaps they would be effective? Without a second thought she stood and yanked the white robe over her head, laying it carefully over the back of the chair. She saw Spock twitch out of the corner of her eye, but he did not turn to look. She began to nonchalantly pull all the cushions off the couch and arrange them in a rough rectangle on the floor. If she was tackled, at least she'd have something soft underneath her and there was no chance of rolling off ontothe floor.

"You are attempting to weaken my resolve," he stated suddenly, though he did not turn away from his alter.

Uhura smiled. "Is it working?"

There was a distinct pause. "You will not succeed." Emotionless. Distant. Annoyed? _Definitely_.

"I'll take that as a yes," she replied irreverently. This time she saw him clench his jaw in irritation, which she chose to see as a positive sign. She settled down onto the cushions and propped herself up on her elbows. "I've been thinking about it and I just can't decide if it's the Vulcan or the Human side of you that's giving the orders at the moment. I mean, this seems like pure human stubbornness right now—you don't like the situation, so you refuse to give into it. Somehow though, I don't buy it."

He pointedly ignored her. Too pointedly, actually—it made her certain he was listening.

"If there's one thing humans are good at, it's rationalization. There's one way out of the situation, the solution puts you in a moral quandary, but survival depends on it, and I'm certainly willing to absolve you—rationalization achieved."

"Now it is your logic that is flawed. There is a 6.473% chance that I can successfully suppress the blood fever through meditation," Spock said serenely.

"Yes, but there's a 100% chance that I can help you work through the blood fever without incident," Uhura shot back. She was getting a little annoyed; maybe she wasn't the most beautiful woman in the world, but she was in excellent shape with a face that most men thought attractive, sitting next-to-naked a few feet from a hybrid Vulcan in the grip of the strongest mating urge she'd ever heard of—yet he hadn't so much as glanced her way.

"Perhaps I simply do not wish to injure you," he suggested in a low, serious voice.

"Perhaps I can take care of myself."

Silence. Uhura tried to remember where she had left off. Ah yes—human rationalizations.

"This just seems like another Vulcan temper tantrum," she continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. If there's one sin that plagues the Vulcan race it's arrogance." She glanced at him to see what effect this was having. Was it her imagination or were his eyebrows drawing together in annoyance?

"We cannot control the universe so we control our reaction to the universe. There is nothing arrogant about it," he grated out.

"Not in the sentiment, no," Uhura agreed carefully, "but in practice…well. Let's just say you'd never see a human male too proud to ask for sex."

Finally he snapped and turned his head to let those black eyes bore into hers. "You do not comprehend what it is you speak of. It is not merely sex. It is a mental invasion. I will see all of you, everything you have ever imagined or felt. Every fleeting violent thought—every deviant sexual fantasy, every secret, and every private shame. I will know you inside and out—as you will know me. We will be bonded until we die, and perhaps beyond that."

Uhura thought carefully before she framed her response. "I'm not sure what you are objecting to—knowing me in such a way, or being known to me? Either way though, is it not preferable to death?"

There was another long silence. "That is what I am trying to decide."

"You're a good man, Spock. I wouldn't mind being known to you," she told him honestly, surprising even herself. She had come here to do her duty—to save a man she held in high esteem, if only for his mind. She had not expected to really enjoy anything about the encounter. Now though, she thought she might have wanted to get to know Spock better as a person rather than as a researcher, even if they hadn't been forced together in this bizarre situation.

She allowed him to continue meditating. The room was warm and the cushions were soft; she found herself becoming more and more drowsy as the hours slowly passed. She was just sinking into a light doze when a loud noise startled her to attention. Spock had swept everything—incense, candles, tray, and all—off of his meditation alter. He proceeded to throw the stand against the wall, chest heaving as he silently raged. Finally he turned to her, and his eyes had dilated to their fullest potential. Uncompromising lust was written all over his face—it made him look slack-jawed, almost bestial.

For the first time, she was afraid, but she was determined not to let him see. She forced her face to assume the familiar blank expression that she always wore in public on Vulcan. He must have read the emotion in her eyes though, for he stopped suddenly and sank down to his knees—shaking with the effort of holding himself back. "You have to leave," he told her. "I cannot control—just go, please." He sounded lost, and Uhura knew she couldn't leave him that way.

"Spock, come here," she told him gently, opening her arms to him.

His face was pitifully grateful as he crawled up to let her embrace him. He laid there and she held him as tightly as she could. She expected him to move at any moment, but besides his head buried in her neck, he made no move to initiate anything. He was shaking still, violently, and his jaw was clenched so tightly that she felt sure he would crack his back molars. Finally, finally he began to unwind until he was gasping against her neck—with exertion she was sure.

"It's like a tide," he said softly. "Each time it washes over me a little stronger, covers me a little longer, and soon I will drown in it. There is no relief, even the respites are torture, knowing that it will not stop and there is no escape."

She felt her eyes burning with tears, but tears were not what he needed. "Let me help you. I want to, very badly." She wondered if he was so far gone now that it didn't matter if she wanted him or not—only that she was here.

"I need you," he confessed, almost too quietly to hear. Then he was whispering in her ear, crooning to her the lilting chant that she recognized from T'Vek's memories. Most of it was High Vulcan, a language she had only been able to partially master, but she recognized the same phrase over and over, "I burn for thee."

She turned her head and kissed him. For a moment he froze—then he began to move his lips against hers, mimicking her movements carefully. She arched her back slightly, pressing her bare breasts into his chest as she moaned into his mouth. He pulled away abruptly, breathing heavily.

"We can wait a few minutes," he said, and his face suffused with green. He was blushing—it was the oddest thing she had ever seen. "It has not yet returned."

"I don't want to wait," she told him, firmly. There was no way she was confronting that animal-like Spock without at least being warmed up first! She pushed at him, surprised when he unresistingly turned over onto his back beside her. She crawled atop him, leaning down to place calculated kisses on his neck. Vulcans were stronger than humans, so she felt free to use more force than usual when she bit down—his gasps seemed to indicate appreciation.

She let her lips meander upwards, to those exotic pointed ears that made Vulcans so recognizable. Nibbling on them seemed to have no visible effect, but when she kissed the shell and gently exhaled she glimpsed his hand clench tightly. He did not cry out, but for some reason his attempt to control himself was seriously turning her on. She smiled against his skin and moved down his body—tracing his collarbone with kisses and running her hands through the sparse hairs on his chest. Her fingers danced down what Gaila, her Orion ex-roomate, referred to as 'the happy trail,' but at his waistband she paused, moving up to give him a quick kiss before looking him in the eyes.

"How are you feeling?"

He blinked at her in surprise and something like humor flashed across his face in a split second. "I am torn between two conflicting desires."

She smiled down at him, trying to look reassuring. "Then we will wait."

Spock was silent for a long moment, then, looking up through his lashes he gave her a tiny, shy smile. "I…do not wish to wait."

Nyota found herself grinning down at him like an idiot—just before he rolled them both over and commenced the same exploration she had just attempted on him. He moved slowly, as if he really was tasting her, rather than simply using physical stimulation to excite her. He was interested in touching every part of her she would allow—not like most guys who stuck to the 'fun parts.' He kissed her elbow and stroked the skin on her inner arm, massaged the back of her neck, and ran his fingers up and down her sides.

She was more vocal than he was, of course—which he seemed to find helpful. When he did something she especially liked she rewarded him with a throaty purr that was completely involuntary. Though she was too distracted to take note of how quickly it was happening, she was aware that his desire was escalating—he kissed her more frantically, clutched at her more desperately, and made a low keening sound when she pulled away, even for a moment.

For most of the encounter, he had taken care to keep his hips away from her—unwilling to let her see the impact she was having on him, she supposed. His grip must be slipping, for now he was pressed against her thigh, pulsing in time to the thrusts of his tongue into her mouth. She couldn't resist adjusting her leg to ever so slightly rub against him. She felt him arch into the pressure then move away slightly. Without even thinking, she followed his motion, deliberately sliding against his erection—he moaned into her mouth before breaking the kiss.

He met her eyes, and she could feel the barely restrained passion radiating from his body. His face was emotionless—perhaps a bit strained—but his eyes! His eyes were wild. "We must join now, while I still have some semblance of control. Otherwise—" he broke off.

"I understand," Nyota assured him, and she could see his relief. His fingers arranged themselves in the proper position.

"My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts. We become one, touched and touching. Parted but never parting." His voice was a hoarse whisper and she could feel his hands trembling. T'Vek had implied that the mind-meld would take place before they reached full intimacy and her memories had given Nyota an idea of what to expect. Certainly she thought it would be intrusive or disconcerting, but oddly it was neither. She simply had more room—like a viewscreen that suddenly doubled in size, there was so much more to see—to feel; she had so much more space, access to memories that weren't her own, and a new perspective to look through.

Now she could understand why Pon Farr required a bonding. It was like a sea of red—rage, lust, jealousy—that slowly filled up the Vulcan brain; one head could only contain so much before vital systems—such as the involuntary muscles that controlled breathing, digestion, and circulation—were compromised. With two minds there was just enough space to fit it all.

A sudden burst of pleasure exploded behind her eyes, distracting her from the contemplation of the Vulcan psyche. That spark seemed to break the dam that was holding back all of the sensation, for rather than simply seeing the red she was feeling it. It was a little like drowning.

Her body was on fire, but there was no pain. Pain came only from denying it, from fighting against the tide. She reached for Spock eagerly, sensing his reluctance to let go, his desire to hold onto his control until the last possible second. This was unacceptable. She arched upwards, scraping her nails down his back and rubbing her leg more firmly against him.

He cried out, begging her to stop, or never to stop…she wasn't sure; it was hard to hear over the blood rushing through her ears. She smiled at him, directly into his wide, human eyes. His expression was oddly stunned. It changed when she slipped her hand into his regulation sweat pants and very firmly squeezed. He shuddered violently, for a moment she thought he would fall on her, but instead his eyes closed and he whispered one word.

"Nyota."

When his eyes opened it was all over. Whatever hesitation she had felt from him had evaporated. His lips were on hers, as though he could extract her soul through her mouth, and his mind was singing to hers in perfect accord. She squeezed again and he growled into her mouth. Her other hand trailed up to stroke the tip of one ear in an almost leisurely fashion. Nyota sighed into his mouth as his pleasure filtered into her brain, building steadily until her own hips were rocking slightly to the rhythm of her hand on his length.

She tore her mouth from his and he set to work on her neck without a moment's hesitation. It was harder than she normally liked it—certainly hard enough to bruise—but somehow it was perfect. Her fingers tangled into his hair as she whispered into his ear.

"Spock." A sound that might have been a word rumbled through his chest. "Why are we still wearing clothing?"

Like lightening he lifted her away from the ground and rocked back to sit cross-legged, pulling her with him, her hips aligning perfectly with his as her legs wrapped around his waist. They both cried out and clutched each other tighter, until he came to some of his senses and ripped her underwear away with a casual, efficient movement.

Oddly, she felt even more turned on by the show of strength. She wanted to see what else he could do. She wanted him to take her against a shower wall, to lift her up and slam into her when she was astride him, to tie him to a bed with something that would make all that Vulcan strength hers. With that last thought, her temperature seemed to reach its peak. The image of him restrained had officially pushed her over the edge.

"I want you, _now_," she told him in Vulcan, reaching between them to at least uncover the more important part of his anatomy. More concerned with expediency now, she simply yanked the pants down enough to reveal a strikingly green penis. It was at once very strange to her and very familiar, depending on which mind she looked at it through. "Now," she breathed, trying to wiggle her hips closer to him.

He had a better idea, as he shifted her to align their bodies intimately, with almost mathematical precision, and slid home. The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place as the red sea of emotion began to boil in their mind. Now there were no thoughts—pleasure spiked through her again and again until she could no longer catch her breath between the gasps and half-choked words of encouragement**. **His hips slammed into hers and she could feel the sensation of being surrounded and filled at the same time. She clawed at his back until her nails were slicked green and he bit into her shoulder until it was black and blue. She was dizzy and desperate, almost sick with bliss but still it continued to build higher and higher. Every muscle was tensed, every nerve sang with sensation, and still it would not come.

Unable to see anything but red and with the intense feelings running through her body, she was fast running out of patience for all this Vulcan nonsense. She wanted it now. Snarling deep in her throat, she threw her weight to one side, tipping them sideways just as his hips snapped into her, penetrating deeper still, hitting that perfect spot, and Nyota stared up into his dazed black eyes and gave him a direct order.

"Come for me, Ashayam."

One thrust. Two. Three. "Yes," he whispered, almost pained.

The red surged, swirling as they peaked together, one mind, one body, one desire. She thought perhaps she was screaming, or maybehe was. It was so intense that she nearly blacked out. She could only cling to him and shake as it rocked through her and the red drained away. Their minds still fused together, she knew he could feel the aftershocks of her orgasm even as his slowly faded. He was still atop her, still inside her, but she didn't feel inclined to move. Right now, she wasn't sure she could if she wanted to. Together, they slept.

~-~-~-~-~-~

The room was dark when she awoke. It was hot, as it invariably was everywhere on the Vulcan colony, and the body half-sprawled atop her wasn't helping. She scooted out from under him, getting awkwardly to her feet, and stretched, catlike, sighing contentedly. Nyota could not remember a time she had ever felt more relaxed, more in tune with the world around her. She cleared her throat suddenly—or so thirsty.

In the dim lighting, she could barely make out the outlines of the furniture, but it was unnecessary. She knew the room like the back of her hand. The kitchen was slightly brighter, the window picking up the beams of one of the planets three moons, but she didn't need the light. There was no need to fumble for a glass or search for the water dispenser. She put her hand out and it was there. When the cup was nearly full, she shut the water off with a wave of her hand.

The first sip was cool and refreshing. The next was pleasant. When she had finished the entire cup, at least half a liter, she paused, confused. Then she filled the cup again. Why was she so thirsty? Once again she drank, a bit frantically, and this time she let herself feel the water sliding down her throat—still the sensation would not abate. Frustrated, she held the cup under the dispenser again, waiting until it was brimful, and then lifting it to her lips.

Something flickered in the corner of her mind, like a sudden flash of color in her peripheral vision, except she couldn't possibly have seen something directly behind her. Slowly she turned, half expecting there to be nothing but the window, but it was Spock, still naked, staring at her with burning eyes.

And abruptly she realized she had never been thirsty at all. Wordlessly she held out the cup to him and he took it gratefully, draining it in a moment. He passed it back, a mute plea, and she refilled it quickly for him. When the tickling in the back of her throat eased, she smiled. "Will it always be this way?"

He set the cup down. "It is always more intense at first. As you become used to it, it will become easier to block out what I feel and to differentiate between what each of us require."

"I see." She boosted herself up onto the low counter, crossing her legs and trying not to stare at any part of Spock other than his face. A frisson of desire spiked through her and she hoped he had not felt it.

"Nyota, you cannot sit on the counter top," Spock informed her, taking a step forward, as though to move her himself, before apparently thinking better of it.

Good—dialogue to distract her from how incredibly attractive the Commander looked as the moonlight played over this musculature. "Why not?" she asked, leaning back slightly to support herself with her arms.

"It is not sanitary to do so."

His voice seemed to go straight through her, and looking at his face didn't help when his eyes were blazing like twin dark suns. She swallowed heavily and gamely attempted to continue the conversation, forcing a light tone into her voice. "Don't worry, I promise to sanitize it before I leave."

"Nyota, I must request that you remove yourself from the countertop immediately," he told her in his most stern, forbidding tone as he took another step towards her.

Unfortunately she wasn't exactly processing at peak efficiency at the moment. "Why?"

He appeared openly frustrated now, striding the last few steps to her side, his voice became low and strangely warm. "You cannot sit on the counter, Nyota, because it is impossible for me to ignore that it puts you at what can only be called an optimum height."

Almost hypnotized by his words and dazed by the lust that was slowly fogging her brain, she simply stared at him in confusion and repeated back the end of his sentence. "Optimum height?"

He nudged her legs apart, allowing himself to press against her. They hissed together, and he leaned in to whisper into her ear. "This is a temptation I find myself unable to resist."

"Why are you still talking?" Nyota asked in obvious confusion. Spock was allowed one moment of startled humor before she attacked his mouth, her hands tangling immediately in his hair as the red fog permeated their minds completely.

This coupling was not as crazed as their first. His hands gripped, but did not bruise her hips; his teeth grazed, but did not score her neck. When he slid her forward, slowing pressing into her, she could feel every angle of the joining though—that much remained the same.

She instinctively curled her legs around his body and wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling one of his arms snake around her waist as his other hand braced against the counter. He slowly withdrew from her and her whole body tensed until he thrust forward again, swiftly, catching her off guard. Again, a slow withdrawal and a quick snap of his hips—she gasped as pleasure radiated outward. Once more, slowly pulling away, and this time when he slammed back into her she rolled her hips up and forward. She distinctly heard him groan over the sound of her own sigh.

His lips found hers, plunging his tongue into her mouth he continued his ministrations until the red cloud in their minds became so dense that it was impossible to do anything slowly. Desperately they struggled to get closer, to touch more of each other. The pace of his thrusts increased, breathing became difficult, thinking became impossible. Then, without warning, the world exploded in a shower of bright stars.

When she could see again—hell, breathe again—she realized she was moving…or rather Spock was carrying her back to their little nest of cushions. He deposited her in the center and seated himself beside her, leaving what was likely to be exactly twelve inches of space between them, if Nyota cared to measure it. She narrowed her eyes at him. "What's wrong, Spock?"

He stared at the point just above her left shoulder. "Nyota, I must apologize for my loss of control. You have sacrificed much to save my life, it is unfair that you should be unnecessarily accosted. It was unpardonable of me not to take into account the amount of influence my hormone levels would have on the control over my baser impulses—even after bonding."

She stared at him for a long moment. Then with a soft snort, she had to shake her head in amusement. His eyebrow rose in confusion. "Sorry, Spock, it's just that I've seen men laugh, cry, run, or fall asleep after sex—but you're my first apology."

"I feel that I have taken advantage of you," he stated seriously.

Nyota smiled at him. "Occasionally, human women like to be taken advantage of; I hope you plan to accost me more in the future."

He blinked at her. "You are attempting to use humor to diffuse a tense situation."

She sighed, smiling wryly. "Attempting," Nyota confirmed. "But I really think you are looking at this the wrong way. I'm the one who should be grateful to you; I'm sure you know by now how long I've wanted to pick your brain. This is the opportunity of a lifetime."

Spock tilted his head slightly. If he were human he would be shaking it in complete denial. "Your desire to consult with me on a professional level is quite different from providing yourself for my gratification. I am certain that you, too, are sensible of the difference."

"I am not saying there aren't different levels of helpfulness, but you can't deny that my providing gratification for you is," a wry smile crossed her face, "gratifying."

"Nyota, will you accept my apology?"

"Spock," she sighed and held up her hand, two fingers extended, as she had seen other married Vulcan couples do. An odd, mystified look glinted in his eye as he reached out to touch her in return. Their minds immediately drew closer together. It was like sinking into warm bathwater or two crocks of honey being poured slowly into one. It was comfortable and comforting. "Do I feel offended?" She didn't wait for his negative response. "Where there is no offense, where is the logic in an apology?"

He stared at their entwined fingers for a long moment. "Your argument is sound." Spock met her eyes, and this time the expression was indecipherable. "I do not understand you, Nyota."

She scooted back down onto the cushions, pulling at him until he followed suit. His arm wrapped almost automatically around her waist. "Well, you've got the rest of my life to figure me out."

Through their bond she felt his surprise and satisfaction. "Is that what you want, Nyota—a lifetime together?"

"Isn't that what I signed up for?" she asked, smiling, but a bit confused. "It's not like I can get a Las Vegas divorce for a ritual telepathic bonding."

Now it was Spock's turn to transmit confusion, though he rallied bravely. "It is true our bonding cannot be undone, but with time and proper training you could learn to shield my presence. When I am on the Enterprise the distance will also help to mask it. You could live an almost normal life—even marry another, if you so choose."

"But in seven years, you will need me again," Nyota protested. She already didn't like where this was going.

"My biological needs to not give me the right to control your life. It is a burden I would not care to inflict on anyone, let alone on one who has proven herself a friend. You have given me seven years—much can be accomplished in that time."

Nyota frowned at him. "So you're saying I'm going to have to track you down in seven years and seduce you all over again or you'll just let yourself die?"

Now Spock was frowning, albeit a very tiny frown. "It is illogical for you to plan your life around such an event."

"It is illogical for you to commit suicide when I'm willing to help you through this. Besides, people do this all the time—that's what marriage is all about," she argued. He opened his mouth to rebut that, but she hurried on before he could speak. "Look, Spock, I already admire you, we've proven I'm attracted to you, and you seem to reciprocate—that's a pretty good basis for a relationship right there."

"Then you wish to…date me?" he asked. The human phrase sounded odd coming from his stern Vulcan lips.

Nyota couldn't help but smile. "I'm saying that I don't want to be your bondmate in name only. We could be companions, and I understand that it won't always be marathon sex and mindmelds, but I still want to give this a try."

There was a long silence while he digested the fact that not only was she willing to fulfill the obligations of pon farr, but she actually wanted to be his wife. Nyota imagined it was a lot to take in, for the man truly seemed to expect nothing from her beyond tonight. Finally he spoke.

"I find it highly unlikely that two strangers, having met so haphazardly, could have a successful relationship. However, when my mind touched yours I found you…remarkably compatible." Once again he twined their fingers together and she felt him melt into her. She wasn't sure if it was his thoughts or if he actually spoke, but his voice rang out in obviously ritualized High Vulcan, "If thou wilt have me, I would be thy husband."

"I will have thee." She smiled into his eyes and realized she was feeling his happiness, echoing through her mind and augmenting hers. She moved closer, twining herself around him in perfect contentment. "I'll put in for a transfer tomorrow."

"You are willing to leave your research?" he asked, and she felt a frisson of surprise again through the link.

"I can continue my research anywhere, and while this is a rewarding posting, I didn't join Starfleet to stay planetside." He was silent. "It may take a while," she cautioned him, hoping he wasn't getting cold feet.

A flicker of happiness from him reassured her. "I think you will find the transfer process considerably shortens when the first officer particularly recommends you to the captain," he informed her.

If he had been anything but Vulcan Nyota might have been worried he was favoring her due to their new connection. As it was though, she allowed herself to feel the warm glow of pride. Spock, the man whose mind she had always been in awe of, found her worthy of recommending. She couldn't stop grinning. "So, I suppose this is the first day of the rest of our lives together."

Though his face was stone, his eyes smiled into hers. "I expect it will be an adventure."


	6. Deprecation

**Deprecation**

**I guess everyone was expecting a meeting when they were kids, so I won't disappoint. As always,** **I own nothing. Also, I know I'm messing with the timeline here. Try to suspend your disbelief. **

Looking extremely out of place against the alien architecture, Nyota Uhura stood in the hallway outside of the administration office for the School of Enlightenment Through Solemn Discipline in the central city of the Shi'Kar province. Long, tight braids spilled over her shoulders as she swung her head back and forth, making them fly in a concentric circle around her head. Small, brown, and unmistakably bored, she sucked on her last piece of candy and tried not to pick at the scabs on her knuckles because she was not allowed to bleed on _this_ outfit. (Not that she had meant to bleed on the last one—some events are simply out of our control.)

She had been asked to wait while her mother and father filled out some very important forms for the principal. On Vulcan, of course, the man wasn't called a principal because on Vulcan everyone's job took at least three words to say, but it was pretty obvious that when you ran a school you were a principal, (or sometimes a Headmaster, or Headmistress if you were a girl, although those words pretty much meant principal too).

Nyota knew these forms were being completed because she had had what her parents referred to as 'discipline problems' at the last school she had attended. Not that they had beenreally all that mad at her for the incident, but hitting was not allowed, especially if the person you hit happened to be a kid that was younger than you. It didn't even matter if the little kid was taller and stronger and was being incredibly annoying and stupid, because young ladies were supposed to behave better than that—as she had been repeatedly told.

Now Nyota wasn't a bully, but she was stubborn and passionate and much too smart to be put in a lower grade just because she was a human. So what if she couldn't do algebra in her head—that didn't mean that she wasn't just as smart as a Vulcan. She was smart, really really smart. Her parents said so. And so had all of her other teachers on Earth before they moved to stupid Vulcan. And why did Vulcan's think they were so smart anyway? Most of them barely spoke two languages! She already spoke four AND she had an eidetic memory, which she was sure most Vulcan's didn't! Her daddy said that only 6.4% of all sentient beings had an eidetic memory. So she was special, which had to be just as good as knowing algebra.

Sighing restlessly Nyota shifted against the wall; shehadn't realized that these forms were going to take quite so long to finish. The digital timepiece revealed she had been in the hall for almost half an hour. Surely just taking a short walk wouldn't get her in any trouble? She considered the closed door before her for one long moment, unsure if her parents would choose the moment she was contemplating freedom to exit, then turned decisively and headed off down the hall. After all, she would be going to school here soon, they could hardly be angry that she decided to explore a bit.

It was impossible to become lost in a Vulcan complex because each corridor was lettered and numbered at every intersection. Maps of the building were placed at convenient places, helpfully pointing the way to administration stations and various other facilities. Most of it was boring, but Nyota was happy not to be standing still. Besides, the hallways were long and straight, perfect for skipping down at top speed. In fact, this was what she was engaged in when a door abruptly opened in front of her.

She stopped quickly, too surprised to make a sound, and peeked through the crack to see dozens of children pouring out of the cavern-like room beyond. They filed out orderly, without speaking above a mannerly, hushed tone, and each had the impeccable grooming of a coddled Persian cat. Nyota watched in fascination; they looked neither left nor right, but proceeded down the hallway oblivious of her presence. Utterly incurious as to what might be hidden behind the open door—if they were even capable of imagining someone hiding there, which in Nyota's opinion, they probably weren't. But Nyota _did_ have an imagination, among other things, and therefore _was_ curious.

She ducked around the door and slipped into the dark room. The technology that filled the place looked pretty odd in contrast with the rest of the building. Her father had mentioned that this school room was built over two thousand years ago, carved from solid rock by Vulcan architects. Nyota stared at the alcoves in the floor with interest. She had heard her mother say that this was the best (read: most efficient) way to teach children ever developed. Each computer synched itself to the assigned child, its programming adapting to foster their strengths and bolster their weaknesses. It looked a bit scary now, all dark and deep and silent, and she was sure she would feel as if she were standing in an egg carton if she were to actually use one, but if it would help her learn better, then Nyota was willing. Shehad a great desire to know.

"What are you doing here?"

Nyota jumped, almost yelling before she realized what was happening. Her heart was suddenly beating a mile a minute, but she managed to speak anyway. As her mother could testify, very little could shut Nyota up for long. "Nothing!" she quickly asserted.

"Nothing?" It was a Vulcan boy, probably a little older than her, but in the half-light of the dim room he looked taller and much, much scarier.

"Yes." She wanted to make that particularly clear.

The boy frowned for a moment his eyebrows furrowing together and then disappearing up under his bangs. "Your reply denotes an absence of purpose, movement and conscious thought. You are here now, you were not here before, therefore you must have come from somewhere else. You stopped instead of continuing on your journey, and began examining this room and its contents—an action you have been engaged in for 12.3 seconds. These actions are by all definitions, 'something' so it is illogical for you to state that you were engaged in 'nothing.' I find it more likely that you do not wish to divulge your reason for being here."

Nyota blinked. He now looked less scary and more geeky, especially in those weird Vulcan school robes. Plus he was actually pretty short for a Vulcan once she looked at him properly, though he was standing really stiffly, like he was trying to make himself as tall as possible. "I just wanted to know what was in here," she told him**.**

He seemed to consider this. "Wanting to know things in which we do not, at the current time, have a personal vested interest in is illogical."

Now she narrowed her eyes at him. He was giving her that snooty tone that those boys used on her at her old school. If he wasn't careful, she'd give him what she gave them, no matter what her parents said about being polite and showing respect for other cultures. He wasn't being very respectful to her, after all. "My mommy says that curiosity is a higher calling."

It was his turn to blink. "Curiosity without control is merely an undirected mental reflex—without purpose and without function."

"I can control it if I want to," she paused, and then she grinned at him, "but I don't want to. I want to know what's what around here."

"What _is_ what?" he parroted back.

"That's what I said," she told him.

"I am not familiar with that expression. It is very confusing."

Nyota scrunched up her nose at him. "What?"

He stared at her for a long minute. "I believe I should return you to your mother or father," he said at last. "Where are they located?"

"Um… sublevel 12, junction 5, corridor 19," she replied easily.

"I will show you the way back."

"I already know the way," Nyota told him, insulted at being treated like a child. "I know lots of things."

"Indeed, then I shall accompany you back to Sublevel 12 to ensure you are not distracted by unfocused curiosity again."

She stared at him suspiciously then took a step closer and glared at him with her hands on her hips. "You don't believe I know how to get back." There was a moment of stiff silence. "I'll prove it to you," she held up one warning finger, "but don't try to help me. I already know the way." Nyota stormed out of the room, she was good at storming, she knew how to bunch up her fists and stomp so hard it made her braids bounce, and she was so fast that people usually had to hurry after her, but the Vulcan boy kept up easily while looking like he was only strolling, so Nyota gave up. You can't storm away unless someone is hurrying after you or you just look silly. Besides, she was more curious about him than she was interested in showing him up.

"What's your name?" she asked, making a sharp left at corridor3.

"I am Spock."

"I'm Nyota. It's nice to meet you." The polite interspecies greeting done with, Nyota felt free to grill him with questions.

"Am I the first human you've met?"

Had she glanced at him then, she might have seen a strange look flash across his face for a moment. "No, I am half human."

"You're a hybrid!" she couldn't help exclaiming. "That is so cool; my Mommy says hybrids are the best of both worlds."

"That is an unusually enlightened opinion on the subject."

"My mom is really smart." She paused at junction looking both ways for just a moment and, then decisively turned left again. "How old are you?"

"I am eight point six Earth years old."

"Well, I'll be six next month. But I'm very advanced for my age."

"Indeed?" He didn't sound impressed.

"It's true. All my teachers say so. I can speak and read four languages, but I can only write two because my writing's not so good yet—but it's going to get better. Someday I'm going to join Starfleet and I'm going to be a Communications officer. I'll be the best officer in the galaxy, and I'll meet so many new people—people that live hundreds of thousands of light years away, so far away we can't even see their stars yet—and I will be the first one to talk to them."

Spock spared her a sideward glance. "You wish to meet people?" She nodded confirmation. "For what purpose?"

Nyota turned around and began to skip backwards, because she liked skipping and it was easier to talk to Spock when she could see him. "Because I like people" she paused for a moment and then came to a decision. "I even like you, and you are _not_ easy to like."

He didn't react at all, not like a normal boy, but his tone was kind of sad when he replied. "I am aware of that."

"But I do like you, very much. I think you are one of those people who improve upon closer acquaintance." She was particularly proud of that turn of phrase**, **and gave him an extra-wide smile to convince him.

He did not smile back, but she hardly expected him to, given the circumstances. It was probably just as well, because while he was not-smiling, they turned the corner and interrupted a discussion between three older boys. They turned in unison to survey the pair with cool disdain. Nyota wrinkled her nose at their expressions.

The tallest, apparently the leader of the group, spoke then. "Spock." His eyes drifted down to Nyota, who met his eyes with a challenge. "I did not realize your parents were searching so far a field for your bond-mate."

Nyota was pretty sure this was supposed to be an insult, though she wasn't sure why. Spock definitely didn't react to it. "I see no logical reason as to why you should speculate about such a topic."

"Simple curiosity," the tall Vulcan replied.

Nyota sent Spock a look that was heavy with irony. He ignored her. "You will excuse us, I am returning Nyota to her parents."

"I am sure they will not miss her for some time. Human are notoriously careless with their progeny," one of the other boys offered, his eyes cold. Nyota really didn't like these guys and she would rather be spaced than admit she didn't know what the word 'progeny' meant. Still, she was pretty sure he was saying something bad about her mom. Her eyes narrowed.

"We would benefit from your insights into our discussion," the other boy continued.

"I am certain you would not find my insights welcome or helpful," Spock replied.

Empty black eyes suddenly filled with malice. "But you are uniquely suited to advise us. We were wondering whether the greatest weakness humans possess is their inability to control their basest instincts or their refusal to admit the weakness itself?"

"Perhaps you could give us some personal examples, which would lead us to a better understanding," the darker boy suggested.

"For instance, when your mother forces her animal lusts upon your father, do you believe she comprehends the limitations of her race and chooses to live within them, or is it an act of empty defiance?

Nyota was staring at Spock's face intently, or she wouldn't have seen the sudden, almost imperceptible clenching of his jaw. Suddenly she was really angry. Spock might not be the coolest guy she'd ever met, but these stupid boys were being mean to him and trying to pretend that they weren't. She had to do something.

"My mommy said Vulcan's don't have emotions."

Four Vulcan heads swung with perfect precision to regard her, all more or less equally impassive. It was the tall boy that spoke, his tone indicating that he was doing her a favor by explaining, "A common misconception amongst your race. We choose to control our emotions, human."

"Well if you control your emotions, then why are you being so mean?"

The tall boy's eyebrow twitched, almost like he was annoyed. "You have failed to understand the nature of our investigation. We are testing Spock's emotional control by subjecting him to emotionally charged stimuli."

"That's no excuse. If you want to know how he feels then why don't you just ask him?"

"You are incapable of understanding, human."

Nyota "humphed" and looked superior. She was very good at humphing and she'd been around Vulcan's quite long enough to get their customary expression down pat. "People only say that when they know they're wrong. And my name is Nyota, not human." She looked up at Spock. "Are you the only smart Vulcan?"

"Sometimes, I believe so, yes." He paused slightly then and stood a little straighter, "Come, Nyota, we will find your parents." He glanced down at her and then reached out and slid his hand into hers, linking their fingers in a way she normally hated—like she was so little that she needed help walking. Nyota stared at their hands for a moment but decided not to pull away because this time it didn't feel like she was being treated like a baby. She smiled up at Spock. It felt like victory.


	7. Disconnected

**Disconnected**

**For the sake of the story, let's assume Gaila is training to be a Communications Officer.**

"And those bastards think we're nothing more than glorified telephone operators! Well, troops we are going to show those ignorant, blowhard technophiles just what communications is all about. We are going to kick their egg-head asses!" Commander McKinnon said enthusiastically, her eyes glowing with excitement and righteous fury.

Nyota caught the eye of Cadet Feondri and returned her smile with a shake of her head. Commander McKinnon's rants were hardly something new for the would-be communications officers. She was the head of the Linguistics Department and the advisor for every language student in the Academy. She also had dinner every Friday with Captain Deragethio, Director of Sciences and Technologies, and often returned full of animated vigor, incensed at the lack of appreciation for her department. Apparently as far as most science officers were concerned, communications officers were desk jockeys, easily replaced by a universal translator that did the xenolinguist's job for them.

It didn't help that a majority of the science officers were men while a large part of the communication officers were women.

"I can't wait to see the look on Deragethio's face when my cadets beat the pants off his science officers!" she said, practically cackling with glee. "And do you know the best part?"

"Um…" someone began from the back, but she was quickly interrupted.

"We're going to do it the old fashioned way—a training exercise!"

The assembled cadets groaned.

"For extra credit, of course," McKinnon added.

Nyota perked up. She was always on the lookout for ways to boost her score. She raised her hand. "Excuse me, Ma'am, are we talking run-of-the-mill training exercise—isolated location, phasers on stun, survival of the fittest kind of thing? Because we're not exactly the fittest bunch here."

McKinnon grinned. "I'm sure I can whip you all into shape in three weeks."

"Three weeks!" someone exclaimed from the left.

"Oh God!"

"Sweet T'therion show us your mercy!"

"Oh stop whining," McKinnon said affectionately. "Now, how many of you have had advanced combat training?" No one raised their hands. "How many of you have had any combat training?" Nyota put her hand up, noting that about two thirds of the class was at least capable of some self-defense. "Good!" the director said, smiling again. "Now who wants to be team leader?"

The room was silent and everyone began looking around, certain that anyone would make a better team leader than they would. Finally Nyota sighed. "I'll do it, Commander."

"Thank you, Uhura, for volunteering. Did I mention the team leader receives double the points?" Nyota grinned and saw some of the others shoot her dirty looks. "Now, you'll have five points credit for participating, but if you beat those slimy, computer-sodomizing ingrates, I will drop your lowest grade and replace it with a one-hundred percent."

The class gaped at her—this was an unheard of bonus. It sunk in slowly, the prize for this training exercise was simply too amazing. Finally someone in the back let loose with a cheer. Everyone was grinning and whooping; suddenly no one could wait to kick the science cadets where it counted.

"I see I've successfully motivated you. I'll leave it to your team leader to discuss tactics," McKinnon said, her eyes gleaming brightly. She seemed ready to burst into maniacal laughter at any moment. Uhura assumed she'd wait until she was in the privacy of her office.

"Okay, if you're enrolled in combat training right now, raise your hands." Hands went up around the room. "You need to start asking for extra help—get as many pointers as you can, especially with how to disable an armed opponent. Those who have completed combat training—buddy up with someone who hasn't taken it yet. I expect you to train together in groups of four so everyone gets enough practice. Give me your name and who your buddy is and I'll compile a schedule for training that will work around your classes."

Everyone looked a bit intimidated by her take-charge attitude. A small, slim Dirigellian raised her hand. Were it not for her huge cat-eyes and oddly-shaped hands, someone could mistake her for a human girl of about fourteen. "Uhura, I was terrible at combat training. I barely passed."

Uhura contemplated her for a moment. "Okay—anyone who got a 60 or below in combat training, report to the arms and equipment area for at least an hour every day for target practice. You can be our snipers."

"Is that legal?" someone called from the back.

Uhura shrugged, "Long-range phaser rifles are listed as an available weapon for the training exercises." No one else seemed to have any immediate problems. "Okay, that's all for now; good luck." Grumbling, they all filed out.

Nyota hurried to the library and feverishly completed the assignment for advanced Romulan II. The work wasn't due for two weeks, which put her roughly a week and a half ahead in all of her classes. She was now free to strategize for that tempting extra-credit training exercise. Pulling out her padd, she snuggled up to a computer terminal with a list of the cadets in her group and a link to their service records.

Four hours later, she saved her information, shut down the terminal, and sent a communication to Cadets Feondri, Kosh, and Gaila. "My dorm room, 1900 hours, come alone."

By the time Kosh and Feondri arrived, Gaila was practically bouncing on her toes. "What's going on, Uhura—and please tell me it's not extra homework."

Feondri gave her a pitying smile. "This is Uhura, of course it's extra homework."

"Congratulations, you three are going to be the first to hear our new training exercise strategy!'

Gaila groaned piteously. "Why us?"

Nyota gave her an evil smile. "Because each of you has exactly the talents necessary to put my plan into action. Observe." She connected her padd to the data terminal in the room and a screen popped up displaying tactical information. "The science department officers have one fatal flaw; they are hopelessly overconfident."

Kosh raised his hand tentatively. "Isn't that because they've never lost a training exercise against our department?"

"Yes," Uhura admitted, "But that's a misleading statement. They've only matched against us five times in the last seven years and the science department ranks only mid-level in terms of average wins."

"But we still rank at the bottom, right?" Feondri asked dryly.

"Technically, yes—but I plan to turn that into an advantage," Uhura informed her.

"Um…how?" Gaila had to ask.

"I'm going to use it to make the science officers completely underestimate us," Uhura explained simply. "This isn't a war that will be won solely on the training field—we must conquer their minds before we conquer their bodies."

Gaila nodded. "So if they think we suck, they'll underestimate us—which doesn't solve the problem of us actually sucking."

"We have plenty of natural abilities to use against them. Out in the field, their only way to coordinate is through communications devices, which happen to be our specialty," Uhura explained. "If we can tamper with those, half the battle is won."

"But they're tech guys—they'll just fix it," Kosh pointed out.

Feondri shook her head. "Not if we set up an alternating frequency that taps into their comms and reroutes the signal onto unused comm lines on the higher spectrums."

Uhura grinned. "Exactly! Tech doesn't cover more than basic repairs for communications units, so unless one of the cadets has chosen to invest his own time in an in-depth study of communicators, he's not going to be able to recalibrate his to the correct frequency."

"I'm guessing it's my job to set that up," Feondri said, sighing a bit.

"With my help, yes. I'm also going to be coordinating Kosh and Gaila's part of the plan though, so I won't be able to give it my full attention."

"Yeah, I figured," Feondri replied.

"So, which of my natural abilities will you be utilizing?" Gaila asked, giving her a seductive stare, complete with soulfully wide eyes.

"Your manipulation skills, actually," Uhura said, grinning. "We need to convince everyone that we are going to perform below even our usual standards of mediocrity. I need people to complain, vocally, about how bad they are at physical combat and how much they hate training exercises and the outdoors, in general. I also want you to see if you can get any information out of the science department about who they're sending and what kind of strategy they normally use."

Gaila frowned. "Wait, I can't just seduce the whole science department—that would be way too suspicious."

Nyota sighed then asked, "What about that computer genius you said would do anything for another date with you?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot about him..." She trailed off, looking thoughtful.

"And Kosh, I think your telepathy can be our secret weapon," Uhura said, looking at her blue classmate intently.

"Uh…Uhura, Bolian's aren't telepathic," Feondri said, looking embarrassed.

"I know, but Kosh is half Betazoid," Uhura replied easily.

Kosh looked slightly uncomfortable. "I'm not actually telepathic, Uhura. In fact, I'm barely empathic—I registered as a two on the Verongomi Scale."

"But can you locate people within a couple hundred feet if there are very few others in the area?" Uhura asked.

Kosh bit his lip. "Maybe. I mean, I could tell you where they were, but probably not who they are. They're like little glowing shapes in my mind, but the more people in an area, the harder it is to see where they are because everything glows."

"Then the plan will still work. Essentially, you'll tell us where everyone is and since our comms will be functioning, we'll know where our people are. Anyone who isn't where they're supposed to be is the enemy."

Feondri grinned. "Wow, that could actually work."

Uhura shrugged and smiled back. "Of course, I'm a genius. Stick with me, kids—the sky's the limit!" She allowed twenty seconds for gloating, then she was all business. "Now here's the list of cadet's you're in charge of. Make sure they practice—and no one tells anyone about our secret weapon." She gestured at Kosh. "It's not against the rules or anything, but I don't want anyone warning the techies."

"No problem, Uhura. No one's going to risk their 100 percent," Gaila assured her.

"Yes, thank goodness for enlightened self-interest," Uhura replied as she transferred data to their individual padds. "Well, we're done here. Let me know if you have any problems with anyone and I'll straighten them out."

Kosh chuckled. "So, do I still need to train if I'm not going to be on the front lines?"

"Hell yes," Gaila told him, quirking her lips. "If I have to train, everyone has to train." She gave him a seductive look, "In fact, if you want I can start your training right now."

Kosh swayed and even Uhura blinked as the temperature in the room ratcheted up three degrees. "Okay, I'm going to get some dinner—Feondri, you want to come?" It was more of a statement than a question as both girls hurried out of the room.

"Geez, Uhura, how do you put up with that?" she asked, closing the door firmly.

"Oh, you get used to it. As long as I don't have to see it, hear it, or clean up after it, it's not so bad. It could have been worse. I could be rooming with a Medusan or an Aaamazzarite. That would be awkward."

"Oh yeah, because we really see a lot of _Medusans_ at the academy," Feondri said, rolling her eyes before changing the subject. "Now, what's for lunch?"

* * *

Gaila didn't spend much time at the gym, partially because Orions had incredible metabolisms and thus no need to exercise consistently and partially because she'd had a bad experience in her first year. Her entire weapons training course had been filled with ugly men and straight women—making her want to tear her hair out in frustration. Now though, she realized she had judged the gym unfairly. In the exercise arena there were plenty of shirtless, tall, toned, tanned, and touchable boys roaming the equipment.

"Show me how to do that punch again," she cooed at her partner.

David smiled at her, white teeth flashing against his dark skin as he demonstrated on the punching bag. His muscles flexed beautifully and it was all Gaila could do to keep her hands to herself. She turned to the bag and hit it with less than half the force David had managed, purposely sticking her elbow out too far and tucking her thumb under her fingers. David patiently corrected her technique, laughing warmly at her ineptitude.

"Gaila, how do you expect to beat the Science Department in the training exercise next week if you break your thumb when you throw your first punch?" he asked, the corner of his mouth slipping up despite his attempts to remain serious.

She turned up the pheromones. "I don't need to beat them—I just have to survive. Besides, none of the other girls are any good, either. As long as I'm not the worst, I'm fine."

"What about Team Leader Uhura? I heard she's always in the gym these days," David objected.

The Orion moved quickly to diffuse the situation and plant the correct rumors. "Oh yeah, yoga master Uhura is really going to lead us to victory!" She gave the tinkling little laugh that had served her so well for so many years. "Anyway, it's just an exercise. It's not like there will be real aliens."

David smiled. "Well, there'll be at least one."

"You mean the Och-man?" Gaila asked.

"No, Lieutenant Och got called back to her homeworld for egg duty. They called in Commander Spock to fill in."

"Ooh, a Vulcan. How exciting," Gaila said, miming a yawn. She would definitely pass along that bit of intelligence.

"So what now—did you want to practice some throws or falls?" David asked amiably.

Gaila gave him her most sultry look. "Why don't we go back to my dorm and practice some grips instead?" she asked, pressing as close as she could get.

David grinned. Gaila grinned back…she had just had the most marvelous idea.

~-~-~-~-~-~-

"Uhura!" Gaila called, running through the door to their room just as it closed.

Nyota spun, concerned, then relaxed. "I don't care who he is or what he does—I don't care if you think he's perfect for me—no more blind dates!"

"What?" Gaila asked, confused. "Oh, no, no, no, this isn't about that—although Tad is perfect for you now that you mention it. But this is better, I had the most brilliant idea while I was in the gym. I'm taking the comm girls out tonight and we are going to get trashed. Tomorrow I'll plant a rumor in the sciences building that we all made a pact to try to seduce one of the boys in blue during the training exercise."

Nyota blinked, "Are you insane? There's a huge test tomorrow!"

Gaila rolled her eyes. "Yeah, at 1300 hours. Plenty of time to recover!" She grinned naughtily, "Besides, think how eagerly the tech guys will run out alone into the forest if they think they can get some non-combative action!"

"Oh my God, that's perfect! I was thinking we'd have to try to ambush them and pick the others off with snipers, but if this gets around they'll wander around the woods in ones and twos—it'll be like shooting fish in a barrel!"

Gaila grinned hugely. "And if they disappear for a few hours, no one's going to worry about them until it's too late."

"This is so brilliant!" Nyota said, sighing at the genius of their plan.

Gaila smirked back proudly, then wrinkled her nose. "Shooting fish in a barrel, Ny? And you think Orion idioms are weird?"

~-~-~-~-~-~

Uhura looked over the assembled cadets who had all crammed into her and Gaila's dorm. So far, everything had proceeded according to plan. The rumor was that the communication cadets were the worst in the history of the Academy at every form of combat known to the universe. Commander McKinnon had actually shown up at Uhura's door, almost hysterical with worry, forcing her to reveal part of her strategy in order to calm her advisor down. Still, it was a good sign if the instructors had heard the rumors too.

"Okay, guys, tomorrow is the big day. You've all been training hard and I know that we are going to win. Cadet Feondri is distributing dossiers on our opponents for tomorrow. Please don't ask how we got them. They won't be expecting a fight, but that doesn't mean we should underestimate them." She paused to glance over the assemblage. "Everyone also has a copy of our strategy and your positions for tomorrow. Intel suggests we will be transported to a forested region in upstate Wyoming, so wear good hiking shoes. Any questions?"

"Are they going to make us wear our uniforms?" Daria asked, looking worried.

"Good question. Unfortunately yes," Gaila replied. "But we're allowed to bring a coat, so everyone needs to choose a Starfleet-issue parka in dark green—they're long enough to cover all the red and hopefully it won't be too hot. You'll also only be allowed Starfleet issue standard communicators, so leave the fancy ones in your dorms."

"Is that all?" Uhura asked, making a few last-minute notations on her padd. No one spoke. "Okay, meet back here at 05:00 tomorrow for a final briefing. We'll head to the transport together, but before we meet up with Lieutenant Caraway, I'll let you all in on the secret weapon we've been working on."

There was a burst of excited murmuring as they filed out. Nyota immediately set her alarm, fell back on her bed, and let sleep claim her.

~-~-~-~-~-~

The sun had barely risen when Spock met the group of sleep-deprived science cadets at the requisitions office. The students were milling about the replicators, but hadn't actually requested any of their gear yet. Apparently they required direction. Spock cleared his throat and spoke loudly but without tonal variation.

"Greetings. I am Lieutenant Spock and I will be organizing and observing your training exercise. Please enter the type of the weapon you prefer. Be advised that all phasers are set on medium stun and that only standard issue equipment can be used in the exercise—including clothing, communicators, and weapons. When you are prepared, we will board the transport. The exercise will take place in a forested area in the northwestern hemisphere."

After what Spock considered an unacceptable amount of shoving and complaining, the cadets were decked out. Few had requested jackets, but everyone had a phaser except for a small cadet who had chosen a Bat'leth. Spock raised an eyebrow but did not comment. He could not interfere with the cadet's choice. In fact, his only job was to provide minimal advice if asked and assistance if absolutely necessary. Otherwise he was to behave as though he were a member of the team and obey the orders of the team captain.

"Hey guys, look how far I can get this phaser in my mouth!" the intrepid leader cried.

Spock resisted the urge to sigh.

The transport was noisy and crowded, but Spock secured a seat in the front by himself easily. The cadets had all crowded into the back as they hyped themselves up for the coming exercise. Though he wished otherwise, his superior senses were sufficient to overhear the group even when they whispered.

"I'm serious! Apparently they all got totally smashed and swore on their promotions that they would each seduce one of us before the end of the exercise."

"No way—they would never throw the training exercise. It's cheating!"

"Come on, it's not like they've got a prayer anyway. Most of the comm girls wouldn't know the business end of a phaser if it was labeled on a data pad. I watched a group training last week and I think a half-grown Ferengi could take most of them!"

"Well it's not like they have a physically demanding job…"

"Please—if we could teach a monkey to say 'please hold' there'd be no need for communications officers."

Spock would have frowned if he were capable. He too had heard of the miserable state of the communications cadets physical abilities. Steps would have to be taken to correct this failing before they graduated, but it was not his department and thus, logically, not his concern.

They arrived at the site precisely twenty minutes later. Spock allowed everyone to precede him off the transport, then descended. He handed a laminated paper to the team leader and completed his duty as coordinator, "Cadet Duncan, your team is designated team red. Here is the relative location of the blue team's headquarters. Your mission is to retrieve their flag while protecting your own. If anyone requires medical assistance, there is an emergency code programmed into your communicators—I am instructed to remind you that losing your communicator, your weapon, or your teammates does not count as an emergency. Cadet Duncan, I relinquish command to you for the remainder of this exercise. You have exactly twelve minutes before it begins."

"Yes sir," Duncan said, standing briefly at attention. Then he slipped into a more casual stance. "Okay guys, hit the head now, or forever hold your pee!"

Grinning and nudging each other, they headed towards their headquarters to prepare themselves for their mission. Spock stared out into the forest and yearned for this day to be over.

"Okay people—fifteen minutes and counting. Put your parka's on—hoods up please, if you have bright-colored hair. Snipers, I want you in position as soon as possible," Uhura called to her group. "Check your boot straps and if you've got anything reflective on, take it off while you can. Double check to make sure your comm. is set to 3.862—any other frequency and you won't be able to hear us, anything higher than 4.0 will be disrupted. And everyone remember, these guys may be idiots, but they aren't stupid. Don't underestimate them the way they're going to underestimate us!"

"So, what's my post, team leader?" Lieutenant Carraway asked, grinning. She was an older woman, but she seemed extremely enthusiastic ever since she'd been told about their plan.

"You and Adrianne are guarding headquarters and Kosh. I'll be coordinating the attack, so I don't have time to watch the woods. If someone comes at us without warning first, shoot them." She raised her voice, "That goes for all of you—identify yourself before you reach headquarters or you will be stunned. Do not forget!"

Feondri ran up, brandishing her comm. unit. "All set to transmit, Uhura. Just say the word."

"Ten minutes left. Are you going with the snipers?" Feondri nodded. "All right, switch comms with me. If yours gets damaged we could lose our advantage."

"Okay, but you know it's not going to pick up or receive messages while transmitting."

Nyota shrugged. "I'll be here with Kosh—that's three comms between us."

Feondri pursed her lips, "Okay, I guess that'll have to do."

Raising her voice again, Nyota faced her soldiers. "Okay guys—if you think you see a chance to go for the flag, make sure you check in first to see if it's clear. No unnecessary risks! Now, who are my distractions?"

Gaila raised her hand, along with five other girls. "Right here."

"You're our first wave of attackers. Head straight towards their camp and try to keep out of sight until they split into smaller groups. I've checked out their other training exercises, and they tend to be very direct about their tactics in these sorts of situations, but that doesn't mean they haven't set up any ambushes."

As one, all the communicators went off with two shrill beeps. "That's it people—move out!"

Gaila stood behind the tree, eyes closed as she focused on releasing as many pheromones as possible. Upwind of the group of five cadets, they really had no chance. She stepped out, sauntering into the midst of the dazed group. As they all gravitated towards her, Peshant and Lori stood up from the brush and stunned two each as Gaila calmly shot the last one.

Lori grabbed her comm. "Five techies down quadrant C7. We need a retrieval squad."

"Acknowledged," Uhura said tightly. "Blake, when you're finished in D9, can you head to C7?"

"Fine, but you know we can only drag two at a time!"

"Understood, Blake, just do the best you can. Uhura out." She flipped the Kosh's comm closed and back open. "Uhura to Gaila. Two techies approaching your position, one from B5 and one from D4. They may have heard something."

"Acknowledged, Uhura. We'll split up."

Feondri stared down the barrel of the sniper's rifle as the techie crept towards Delia and Betk's position. "Wait for it, wait for it," she whispered. She pulled the trigger and seconds later the cadet was a crumpled heap.

"Thanks, Feondri," Betk's voice said from the comm.

"No problem, but I think Blake's busy in the upper quadrant. Can you two drag him to holding?"

"Consider it done."

Her comm. buzzed and Nyota's voice crackled through. "Feondri, there's only one more techie in your area, approaching from the northwest. Once you take him out, find a new vantage in C3."

"Understood. Feondri out."

Ferris plodded along resentfully, swinging his bat'leth at low-hanging vegetation. The comms were malfunctioning, so he couldn't be sure, but probably every other member of the team had either stunned or screwed a comm cadet by now. Just his luck, he'd picked the upper quadrant which was totally deserted.

Without warning, a slim figure stepped out from behind a tree. "Hey," she said, pushing back her hood so her red hair swung around her green face. "That's a pretty big sword you got there."

"Uh," Ferris struggled to think while his brain sent off fireworks. "Yeah."

"You wanna show me how to use it?" she asked, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. It was sexy as hell.

"Uh…sure."

"Oh good. I love learning new things…guess I'm one of those curious girls."

She moved in and pressed her body against his, pulling him in for the hottest kiss he'd ever experienced in his life. He almost lost it right there. He probably wouldn't have noticed if she'd pressed a phaser to the side of his head…oh wait.

There was something not entirely above board with this training exercise. This was not a feeling, per say, more a series of intuitive leaps based on subconsciously recognized clues. For one thing, he had heard extremely good reports of the team leader, Cadet Uhura, from multiple trustworthy sources. It was unlikely she would allow her team to enter this exercise unprepared.

Furthermore, it could not be a coincidence that as soon as the exercise began, the frequencies on all the comm. units had been hijacked and projected into the higher levels of the spectrum. He knew this, because he'd just finished recalibrating manually, searching for a usable frequency over the five distinctly unrestful hours spent guarding the headquarters with the almost hyperactive Cadet Richardson.

Clearly, the Communication Cadets had a plan, but it was not his place to inform his team of his suspicions when they had all the data needed to come to the same conclusion. In fact, part of his job was to not take any initiative at all in these exercises. Plans should be generated by the cadets, for they wouldn't always have someone to take orders from in the field. Still, inaction—he glanced over at his jittery companion—was frustrating.

"Uhura to Gaila."

"Gaila here—any more techies to molest?"

"We've got sixteen in camp—six more still at large. Two in A2, Sarah and Ana have them in their sights, one wandering around in A10, so probably not a threat, and one being stalked by five of our girls in D3. That leaves two guarding headquarters—Kosh says one of them is probably Lieutenant Spock."

"Vulcans are immune to Orions, but I can grab the one in A10," she offered.

"No, send Peshant and Lori after him. I want you here to control the prisoners; they're starting to wake up and I'd rather keep them docile."

"Oh, I get to play jailkeeper?" Gaila asked, sounding as if her birthday had come early.

"Yeah, I know it's a bad idea, but hey, why should I have all the fun?" Uhura asked, rolling her eyes. "I'm taking Feondri as backup and we're going after the flag."

"By yourselves? Why—you've got practically a whole phalanx here?"

"You'd be insane to try to sneak up on a Vulcan with that many people. If this doesn't work, then we'll try brute force."

Duncan didn't want to admit it, but he was pretty sure he was lost. Worse than that though, he hadn't run into any girls yet, and he'd already made a bet with Qell that he'd bang and bag at least two! And worst of all, his communicator was on the fritz—he couldn't even call in and ask for directions. Now he was reduced to climbing uphill in search of a climbable tree. Hopefully he'd be able to spot headquarters from there.

Wait—was that a clearing ahead? He walked quickly towards it. Either he'd gotten completely turned around in the woods, or this other clearing just might be… He stepped out and stared at the small wooden building, identical to the one he'd left behind, but for the blue square on the front.

He grinned. "Hey, I found the girls'—" The phaser blast caught him between one word and the next, but at least when he woke up he had finally found his teammates.

"Did you hear that?" Richardson asked, pointing his phaser towards the woods. In fact, Spock had heard it three point seven minutes ago.

"It is coming from the woods, seven meters to the south east," Spock informed him calmly.

"How many do you think there are, Sir?" Richardson asked excitedly.

"One, perhaps two—"

"I should go and investigate," Richardson said, leaning down to retie his boot.

Spock blinked. They were standing at the only entrance of the 'headquarters' behind short walls that provided plenty of cover, with five meters of cleared woods around them. No one could sneak up on them and it would be difficult to hit them from the woods—but he could not tell the cadet that. "You must do as you think best," Spock finally responded, trying to sound discouraging.

Richardson grinned at him. "Great, I'll be back in a second."

Not three minutes later there was a cry for help.

"I can't believe he's actually coming after us," Feondri breathed into her ear. "What a moron."

"But Lieutenant Spock's the one to worry about," Uhrua reminded her. She thought for a minute. "I have an idea. Fall back a bit, let's see if I can't lure him up after his techie. Whatever you do, don't let him see you!"

Feondri nodded, fading back into the woods as Nyota pulled off her parka and draped it over her arm. She walked on, no longer watching where she went, exaggerating her difficulty balancing over the roots and rocks. Uhura heard a few branches swish back into place ahead of her, and caught a flash of red in her peripheral vision, but pretended not to see. A moment later a short, thin cadet jumped out at her, brandishing his phaser threateningly.

Uhura gave a gasp of real startlement—seriously, was he planning to jump out like that when he was an Ensign?—and pretended to slip. She fell, hitting her knee painfully on a root, but rolling with the momentum to conceal her arm from the techie. Uhura hissed dramatically though her teeth. The science cadet reached down to help her up, an apologetic look on his face.

Uhura did not have advanced weapons training—but she did have four older brothers. She let her body go limp, contorted her face in an expression of pain, and gripped her arm as if it were fragile—making sure to hold it at an awkward angle.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry—are you okay?" he asked anxiously.

"Please, can you call emergency medical? I think it's broken!" she asked plaintively, making her voice as small and pained as possible.

He reached for his communicator. "Damn, I forgot they were out. Is yours working?"

"No, I thought maybe it was just part of our test, since we're supposed to repair comms," she said, managing to force out some tears—after all, her knee really did hurt.

"Well, here, just wait a second, I'll get the Lieutenant!" He turned away from her and shouted through the trees. "Lieutenant Spock! We need some help up here—the comms are down and I think I broke this girl's arm." He glanced back at Uhura and she gave him a pitiful look. He turned back towards the headquarters and yelled again. "I think it's really bad!" When he turned back Uhura punched him in the face.

He went down like a felled tree.

Unfortunately, Lieutenant Spock was much faster and quieter when he moved through the forest. He appeared suddenly, pointing his phaser at her before she could move. "Please disarm yourself, Cadet," he instructed her in a calm monotone.

You first," she replied, cheekily, in almost unaccented Vulcan fully aware that her phaser was still strapped in its holster.

If he was surprised she spoke his language he didn't show it. "Cadet, though it would be unfortunate if I had to carry your body back to the holding cell, I am willing to do so if you do not comply," Spock told her calmly. Uhura shrugged wryly, pulled out her phaser, and tossed it onto the ground nearby. "You will proceed me back to headquarters," he told her in no uncertain terms.

Uhura tried to look angry as she stepped around him. Unsure where Feondri was, she could only try to distract the Lieutenant long enough to give her a clear shot. She began to slowly walk back towards the red camp, unsure of her next move, when Spock's head suddenly snapped to the side. Stupid Vulcan hearing! Sending a prayer heavenward, Uhura took the opportunity to leap at him.

Faster than she could blink, he caught her wrist, twisted sideways, and somehow shifted her weight so that she fell against him. She had only a moment to realize that he was quite tall and much stronger than he looked before he casually placed a hand against her shoulder and pressed. Unconsciousness slipped over between one breath and the next.

As Uhura slid down to the ground and Spock returned his gaze to the area of the woods across from his tracker, Feondri aimed carefully. "Drop your weapon!" she ordered the surprised Vulcan.

He spun like a cat and she stunned him almost before she realized what she was doing. Staring at the three prone bodies, she grabbed her comm and spoke. "Gaila, can you send Blake and about four other volunteers out here. We took down two more techies, but the Vulcan got Uhura."

"Oh, is she okay?" Gaila asked.

"Yeah, I don't think he actually hurt her. What's your status?"

"With your two, we have all but one techie captured—we'll run him down when we have the red flag. Are you going after it?"

"As soon as backup arrives, yes," Feondri said, grinning.

"Okay," Gaila said, and her answering smile could be heard in her voice. "Only two hours left in the exercise—I'm going to go ahead and call this a win."

"Ohhh, ow," Uhura said, sitting up slowly. "What happened?"

"You got royally taken down by that jujitsu Vulcan," Feondri informed her. Behind her Kosh was grinning at them both.

"Maybe this will cheer you up though," he said, proffering a long piece of red cloth.

"The red flag! We won?" she asked.

Feondri smirked. "Don't worry, there's still at least thirty minutes left until the exercise ends. You didn't miss the victory party or anything."

"Oh good—so, status report?" Uhura asked.

Feondri snapped to attention. "Yes, Sir!" Uhura winced and clutched her head. Unrepentant, Feondri continued, "All enemy cadets contained in the holding cell, Sir! Headquarters still on high alert! What are your orders, Sir?!"

Kosh laughed. "Okay, she gets it. Look, Captain Uhura, I think your Vulcan is finally coming around."

"I'm just a team leader," Uhura protested as she was hauled to her feet by her friends. "Wait, what do you mean my Vulcan?"

"We're all adopting one of the members of team red," Feondri told her. "Look—spoils of war—" she pulled her parka open to display a red cadet shirt that was clearly too big for her.

"What?!"

"It's just for fun—we got a bit bored after a couple hours sitting around."

"Yeah, but you took their shirts?"

"Well it's not like they were using them," Feondri protested.

Uhura was about to explode when the Derrigellian girl, Betk, entered carrying something suspiciously dark colored. "Uhura—Blake said this one is yours."

"Oh my God, please tell me that is not Lieutenant Spock's uniform shirt," Uhura begged the tiny girl.

"Relax, even Carroway said it was all right. Pranks are practically part of the training exercise ritual," Feondri told her, propelling her towards the door and grabbing the shirt from Betk on her way. "Come on, you can view your command."

"Wait, where is Lieutenant Spock at? The first thing I need to do is give his shirt back."

"Why? He got to neck pinch you, so you get his shirt. It's only fair," Feondri insisted.

"He knocked me out because I attacked him in a simulation—and you probably forced him to hand over his personal property at phaser point."

Feondri shrugged. "Tomato, tomahto. Now come on, you've got to see what Gaila's done to the cadets."

"Spock first," Uhura insisted, taking the shirt from her friend.

"He's probably with Blake, still recovering from the phaser blast. In any case, the cadets are on the way, just glance at them as we pass by," Feondri told her, grinning hugely. "Not that you'll be able to look away."

They stepped outside the small shack that served as the headquarters and headed towards the holding cell a few meters beyond. Essentially the 'cell' was a set of four force-field generators set into a rough square, but it did the job—not that any of the shirtless science cadets were in a position to notice their surroundings.

Squashed tightly together, they had formed what looked like a miniature mosh pit and were holding Gaila above their heads. Every few minutes they would rotate so that someone on the outer edge would have an opportunity to touch more than a wrist or ankle. They were also singing some kind of raucous Orion song about sailors coming home after a long year at sea to find a willing woman or three.

Some of her dismay must have shown on her face, because Lieutenant Carraway came over from where she had been observing the ruckus and gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Cadet Uhura. I've been monitoring them and no one has done anything that would result in a reprimand." She glanced over to where some of the cadets' hands were wandering to on Gaila's body. "Yet," she added.

"Well, if we can keep things from escalating in the next twenty minutes, it'll all be over," she replied. Then she turned to Feondri. "Now where did they put Lieutenant Spock?"

Carroway grinned. "Oh, they brought him in a few minutes ago. I don't think I've ever seen a Vulcan so annoyed and trying so hard not to show it." Her smile widened, "He looked cold, too."

"Wait a minute," Feondri interrupted. "Are you saying the Vulcan is in with Gaila?"

"Vulcan's are immune to Orion pheromones—you just can't see him because he's sitting on the ground behind Gaila's harem."

"Lower the forcefield," Uhura said firmly.

"What?!" Feondri asked incredulously.

Uhura gave the clearly occupied cadets a rueful look. "It's not like they're going to try to escape, is it?"

Feondri chuckled under her breath as she typed in the password. "I suppose that's true. Let me know when you want out."

"If there's anything left of me when Spock is finished murdering me," Uhura replied, stepping into the holding cell as the forcefield shot up behind her.

"Yeah, a Vulcan murderer—boredom is their weapon of choice," Feondri shot back. "See you in a bit."

Uhura pushed and shoved her way past the crowd of half-naked cadets to reach the back corner, holding her breath to avoid inhaling any of Gaila's very potent pheromones. She caught sight of him, seated on the ground in perfect lotus position, eyes closed, and wearing only his black uniform pants and a dark gray sleeveless undershirt. It was obvious that however devoted to the Sciences Lieutenant Spock was, he had not neglected the gym. She approached quietly, firmly keeping her straying eyes to herself. She was hoping not to disturb his meditation, but as she moved to lay the shirt in front of him, his eyes snapped open.

Black pools, swimming with intelligence met her eyes, startling her into taking a step back. Then her memory kicked in and she hung her head as he rose to his feet. "I am so, so, so, so, so, so sorry," she said slowly, proffering his uniform top.

"I understood that my shirt was taken as tribute," Spock said quietly, his hands not moving from his side. "Though I cannot understand its value to you, I am familiar with the tradition of, as humans say, 'to the victor go the spoils'."

"It was a misunderstanding. I know your species is uncomfortable in such low temperatures. Please take it back," Uhura said.

Spock bowed his head slightly and finally reached for the shirt, slinging it back on and fastening it up tightly. "Your consideration is appreciated."

She nodded, then darted a glance at the raucous crowd behind them. "I am sure you are not exactly enjoying your stay in here. Would you care to take a walk?"

He tilted his head slightly, as though he were studying her. "Are you not concerned that I may affect an escape?"

Confused, Uhura frowned at him. "If I understand the rules correctly, your role as an instructor strongly discourages initiatives like that." Then she grinned at him, "And if you'll excuse me for saying so, Lieutenant, you don't look like a rule-breaker."

He bowed his head again in acknowledgement of the truth of her words. "Besides," she added, "it's common for the leaders to discuss formal terms of surrender away from the influence of the troops"

He certainly didn't smile at her, in fact the expression on his, upon closer inspection, decidedly handsome face didn't change at all, but a glint of amusement shone in his eyes. "Then in the interest of diplomatic relations, a walk would be acceptable," he replied gravely.

She signaled to Feondri to let her out, ignoring the indignant look the cadet gave her when she gestured for Spock to precede her. The Vulcan was commonly believed to be their most dangerous prisoner, but Uhura was confident that he would not try anything funny. Finally Feondri gave up in disgust. "Fine, if one neck pinch wasn't enough for you," she cried, throwing her hands up and marching back to headquarters, muttering under her breath.

Spock watched her go as they fell into step beside each other. "You inspire admirable loyalty in your peers, Cadet Uhura," he commented.

Uhura shrugged ruefully. "I don't know about that—Feondri may mutiny yet."

"I believe she is only concerned because of the disregard you have shown for your own safety," Spock replied.

"That suggests that I am endangering myself by walking with you," Uhura said archly.

"Were this anything other than a training exercise—"

"I would not have invited the most dangerous prisoner in the brig out for a stroll in the sunshine," Uhura finished for him.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Cadet Uhura, may I presume you are responsible for the planning and implementation of this exercise?" Spock asked after a moment.

"It was my plan, but Cadets Feondri, Kosh, and Gaila were instrumental to refining and completing it."

"Then the rumors of your inexpertise were planted purposefully?"

"People always assume communications cadets are inferior combatants. It wasn't hard to confirm those assumptions," Uhura said proudly.

"Fascinating. You used their preconceptions against them and tailored your strategies to take advantage of the cultural and species diversity of your teammates. You have created unique weapons, Cadet." He looked at her again bemused a bit by the notion that such a creative and competent brain resided in such a tiny, aesthetically pleasing figure.

Uhura pondered that for a moment, "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment. She said.

As they turned in the direction of the transport pad their steps fell into sync, "Tell me Cadet," Spock asked smoothly. "Where did you learn to speak my native tongue?"

What seemed like only moments later, the transports arrived, carrying two independent evaluators from Starfleet and a portable replicator. As the science cadets were still a bit dazed from the effects of the Orion pheromones, the communications cadets got first dibs on recycling their phasers and ordering a well-deserved lunch. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Spock and Lieutenant Carraway conferred with the evaluators to determine the precise point total for the exercise. Finally, after an agonizing wait, Spock detached himself from the officers and walked over to Uhura's group—each of whom were still wearing their stolen jackets.

"Miss Uhura, you are to be commended. Due to your leadership, your team will be receiving a perfect score for this exercise. Individual grades will be dispensed by Wednesday."

"Thank you so much, Lieutenant," she said, beaming at him. He gave a small, utterly Vulcan bow and headed back to his peers.

Uhura turned back to Feondri and Gaila. "Oh my God—guys! A perfect score, plus extra points and a free hundred from Commander McKinnon!" she crowed. "Oh, I can't believe we did it!"

"Please, us against these knuckle-draggers," Feondri said, gesturing to the Techies who were just now hearing the bad news from Lieutenant Carroway. "They didn't stand a chance."

Gaila grinned. "I almost feel bad for them. Taking them down was almost easier than seducing a teenager." Everyone stared at her and Gaila's smile turned into a scowl. "That is not a weird idiom!"

Uhura was not in the least surprised when Wednesday came and her overall individual score was a record-breaking 110%. What was surprising was the large package left outside her dorm room after her classes ended. She scanned the attached note as she unzipped and kicked off her boots.

Cadet Uhura. I believe you unintentionally left this in my care.

**Shiyau thol'es k'thorai ri k'ahm"**

Mystified, Uhura cut the string and peeled the lid off. Inside was a freshly laundered Starfleet officer's shirt in charcoal gray. The Science Department insignia was printed on the front, leaving her in no doubt as to the identity of the owner. She realized she was smiling, partly because this was pretty much the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given her and partly because Spock's communicator number was pinned to the front of the garment with a note indicating that he found their conversation most fascinating and wondered if she would like to continue it after his seminar on Vulcan influence on human military strategy at the Vulcan Cultural Museum that Friday.

Shiyau thol'es k'thorai ri k'ahm

Nobility lies in action, not in name.


	8. Dadaism

Dadaism

Spock had never attended an art class. On Vulcan, it was not considered a skill to be able to adequately recreate a figure or object using some kind of visual media—inasmuch as it was not considered a skill to blink or force blood through one's veins. In fact, a Vulcan that did not have a near-perfect memory and could not concentrate sufficiently to sketch an exact likeness was considered an aberration. Thus the idea of purposefully gathering in order to demonstrate this ability seemed illogical. Still, his mother had requested that he attempt an activity that explored his human culture; he would endure far more than a few hours of mental stagnation to please her.

"You seem to have an unparalleled ability to draw exactly what you see, Mr. Spock. What picture are you copying?" Mrs. Tamei asked brightly.

He glanced at his sketch, a photograph quality drawing of the Seattle skyline, and raised an eyebrow. "It is not a copy. It is the view from the window of the hotel _Avander_. I saw it when I was visiting Earth and simply reproduced it."

"You drew this from memory? I just visited Seattle a few months ago and this looks exactly right!"

"Your perception is in error. Since my visit, the Starfleet Medical Information Hub was constructed in 2245, altering the skyline significantly."

"Wait a minute—you saw this over twenty years ago and you've remembered it well enough to sketch it perfectly?"

"I am Vulcan," he reminded her.

Mrs. Tamei smiled and rolled her eyes—something humans did often around him, he noticed. "Well, Spock, from what I've seen your technique is perfect, but you do seem to purposefully limit yourself."

Spock tilted his head, confused. "Please clarify; to what limitation are you referring?"

"Well, you've drawn blocks, flowers, robes, and birds. You've painted sunsets and landscapes. I've seen your pastel work with the lyre—it was beautiful, but I've noticed you never draw or paint people." Mrs. Tamei's eyes widened, as if trying to convey some significance.

"You imply that bidpeds are more difficult to portray than objects or animals, or perhaps that their absence is a deficiency in the variation of my portfolio?" Spock asked politely.

Mrs. Tamei floundered. "No, it's not that—although many artists think people are the most difficult thing to capture. The expression on their face, the emotion in their eyes, all the little nuances that make up a persona, that's a real challenge. That's what your art is missing."

It was clear what she was not saying, something his mother had been not-saying his entire life. "Mrs. Tamei, you suggest that my art lacks emotion," he stated calmly. "I posit that it is illogical to expect an artist to reveal something in his work that is not present in the artist."

"That's why I think you should paint people, Mr. Spock," she insisted, gesturing with her paintbrush and leaving little speckles of red in her wake. "You draw what you see; maybe if you see something that has emotions, you'll draw it."

He paused. "An indirect route which nonetheless arrives at the prescribed destination," Spock conceded. "Very well, I will make an attempt."

"Excellent," Mrs. Tamei enthused, beaming at him. "I have a model coming in on Friday for the figure painting class, but it's a pretty small group. You can bring your sketch pad and sit to the side."

Spock considered this. "That would be acceptable.

Spock arrived precisely on time for the class and was forced to wait for almost ten minutes before the other students finished greeting each other and set up their various materials—an inefficient use of his time. From his position towards the front of the class, only one other artist's canvas was visible to him. It appeared to be a cubist interpretation—the work was obviously derivational, but the technique was adequate. His attention was diverted from the painting by the arrival of Mrs. Tamei and her model. Though she was speaking too quietly for any of the humans to overhear, Spock listened as she instructed the girl—Nyota—to ascend to the platform.

Spock was grateful that he was positioned to the side where no one was likely to glance at him, else they would have seen a most un-Vulcanlike loss of composure when Nyota calmly doffed her robe and stepped naked towards the stool provided for her. His eyes widened noticeably, his face and neck turned ever so slightly green, and his muscles tensed briefly. He was feeling surprise, embarrassment, appreciation, and a slight sexual awareness. Within a moment these catalogued feelings had been accepted and moved past; now he was free to think about the situation logically.

When growing up in Shikaar Province, he had occasionally heard disdainful references to the human race's affinity for 'casual nudity.' When he had subsequently visited Earth with his parents, he had assumed this was merely propaganda. When he had moved to San Francisco to attend the Academy he had observed the beach-goers with a lifted eyebrow and amended his assumption—the Vulcans had merely exaggerated. Now here was another paradigm shift.

He could not help but wonder why they did not simply use a holographic projection of a person or allow the young lady to wear a bathing suit—perhaps provide some kind of drape to preserve her modesty? Then again, Nyota appeared perfectly at ease, even a bit bored, and none of the students were reacting with undue…emotion. Spock attempted to follow their lead and resolved to research this matter at a later date.

The hour allotted for the class passed quickly. Spock had several proficient sketches and, of course, had not been required to so much as glance at Nyota for the rest of the session. He had not yet decided the pose he would use for the final version, but he was certain he would not require another modeling session. He packed up his materials quickly and efficiently, heading for the exit at a dignified walk, and if his eyes failed to meet Nyota's on the way out, it was a purely accidental matter.

He arrived at his Academy apartment at 4:36 pm and completed several essential course updates. He then prepared a light dinner, quickly consumed it, and proceeded to meditate for several hours. At 9:45 pm, he extinguished his lights and went to bed. At 12:11 he awoke abruptly from a strange dream in which Nyota's perfectly proportioned body had featured rather prominently.

Still slightly flushed from the dream, Spock nonetheless forced himself from the bed and assumed a meditative position. If his subconscious was attempting to manifest in fantasy, clearly he had not fully confronted how the day's events had affected him. Five hours later, feeling relaxed and in better control of his emotions, Spock ascended from his trance with a single image in his mind. He swiftly readied his supplies and began to sketch the beginnings of what would become his first foray into portraiture.

It being a Saturday, Spock had scheduled the morning for research into increasing antimatter yield by altering the resonating frequencies of the sub-harmonic particles in warp core coils. He mentally rearranged his schedule in his mind as he mixed the perfect medium-brown-bronze of Nyota's skin under the Vulcan sun.

His last session with Mrs. Tamei was Tuesday, and he would prefer to have the painting finished by then; he would reschedule his racketball match with Captain Smith-Smythe on Sunday morning to devote that time to his research, however he still had tutoring sessions all that afternoon. Monday he would be in Xenophrenology all morning and in conference all evening, with Tuesday's morning taken up by two introductory classes in Spacial Sciences. That left today as his only possible time to complete the work. Though it would necessitate his failing to attend the symphony as he had planned, it seemed the most logical plan.

And then, with the week's schedule perfectly arranged, he was free to work.

Seven hours later, Spock cleaned up his materials and moved the painting to the corner to dry. He was usually conscious of a sense of peace upon the completion of a project, but in this case he was…unsettled. He had created something that was essentially irrational, an accurate representation of a visual representation conceived by random neural impulses firing while he slept—not something he could ever explain to a Vulcan without having his logic questioned.

Vulcans did not dream.

And yet, the painting had symbolic meaning, at least to him. There was an internal logic. He scanned it again, trying to mentally verbalize the picture. It was the Cheleb-khor Dessert, a harsh, barren landscape that would be immediately recognizeable to any Vulcan who so much as glanced at it. In the center of the painting was a bed that could have been produced by almost any humanoid culture were it not for the almost illegible ancient Vulcan script etched into the baseboard. The words to the marriage ritual, and thus very obviously a marriage bed. And there in the center, splayed atop the disarranged beige sheets was a slim, brown human girl-Nyota. Her naked body was relaxed, her expression, seductive, but it was her eyes which bored out of the painting, brimming with sated lust that were truly the focus of the work: the image from his dream. There was the warm, sensual, beautiful humanity wrapped up at the core of his equally beautiful austere Vulcan heritage. And the duality worked-perhaps because Nyota's replete splendor at the center made it difficult to focus on the rest of the painting. He found himself tracing her curves with his eyes and abruptly stood. It was possibly his best work.

He would have to dispose of it.

He could objectively classify the techniques and brush strokes to be impeccable. It perfectly represented the ideas he had wished to express and it captured the human element so essential to this type of work. Ms. Tamei would no doubt think it exceptional. However, to display such a work would be…inappropriate, and should he store it away, his mother would be almost certain to find it and ask him questions that would be difficult to answer with any degree of dignity. She would also be unlikely to allow the subject to rest no matter how many years passed in the interim.

That would be…unacceptable. Spock boxed up the painting the moment the pigmentation was secure.

Six days later Ms. Tamei reverently pulled the painting from the box and propped it on an easel as Nyota looked on curiously. "I'll be very disappointed if this is some weird Impressionist portrait, Kim" she said, a note of laughter in her voice.

"Can you truly imagine a Vulcan Impressionist?" Ms. Tamei asked, reaching for a drop cloth.

"Well you never know, they seem to be good at—" Nyota caught her breath as the painting was revealed, "everything."

"Isn't it gorgeous? I admit, I despaired of him ever creating anything that really spoke and then _this_."

"Why did he just give it away?" she had to ask. It was so beautiful.

Ms. Tamei snorted. "He said something about wanting to thank me for my time, but personally I think he just didn't know what else to do with it. It's not the sort you imagine Vulcans having in their rooms, is it?"

"I guess not," she said weakly, still unable to look away.

"Anyway, he asked me not to display it—and since I live in an art gallery and my house practically has a revolving door on it, I thought I had best give it to you," she finished up, rewrapping the work and putting it back in its box.

Nyota blinked. "To me? Are you sure? It must be so valuable!"

Ms. Tamei smiled. "Perhaps it could be, but if no one sees it, art is wasted. At least you will appreciate it; and this way, I do not break my promise."

Nyota knew she should refuse, but there was something about the picture that stirred her; she felt a connection to this unknown Vulcan who had looked at her and seen…_that_. What else could he see? So she accepted, eagerly. "Thank you, Kim. I know exactly where I'm going to put it."

Ms. Tamei shrugged. "That is the way it is with art—you see it and you know where it goes."

"Is there anything else you can tell me about the artist, other than his race, I mean?" Nyota asked as she gathered her things to go.

The older woman sighed and thought for a moment. "He was tall and good-looking, with very dark eyes. Other than that, he only gave me his first name, Spock."

Nyota sighed and nodded. "Thank you anyway, Kim."

"It is no trouble…oh," she called, just as the door to the studio was swinging closed. Nyota caught it and peeked back in.

"Yes?"

"I believe he once mentioned something about rescheduling a teacher-conference with a cadet, if that is of any help."

The young girl smiled back, triumphant. "Yes, Kim, that will help a great deal."

And that was how, six days later, Spock answered the chime of his office to find the slim uniform-clad figure he knew in precise detail waiting patiently outside. She gave him a cool nod and a sharp, "Sir."

He stared impassively at her. "What can I do for you, Cadet?"

"Cadet Uhura, Sir, Communications. I just wanted to stop by and thank you for your efforts."

"Cadet, to what are you referring?"

For the first time, the slightly wooden expression faded and her eyes glinted with emotion. "To your painting, Sir."

Spock felt embarrassment, examined the emotion, and discarded it as irrelevant. Regret actions that could not be altered was illogical, an inefficient use of his time. "Cadet, your sentiments are appreciated, but unnecessary. The painting to which you refer was not meant to be viewed."

"Yes, Sir," Cadet Uhura replied. She seemed to hesitate then.

"Was there something else?"

Uhura straightened. "Yes, Sir, it is 1300 hours; if you have not eaten, perhaps you would like to share a meal with me in the commissary?"

Spock considered his schedule. He had twelve essays to grade between now and 1500 hours. He had a meeting at 1530 and a training period to oversee at 1700. Working in his office while he consumed a nutrient bar would be more efficient. He considered Cadet Uhura. "Yes, Cadet, that would be satisfactory.

Nyota smiled.


End file.
